The Pirate and the Time Traveler
by LilyMaidofAstolat
Summary: After time-traveler Cassandra Haversham finds herself trapped on the mysterious island of Neverland, she must find a way to survive, with the unpredictable Captain James Hook being the least of her problems.
1. Chapter 1 - Out of the Blue

_**A/N: This is my first time writing fanfiction, I just finished NaNoWriMo, so I want to take a break from writing anything serious, and just do something fun for a change. I really like the Peter Pan story, especially Captain Hook, so I guess I just decided to go with that.**_

The day the girl fell from the sky, the weather was calm and clear, the wind barely ruffling the sails of the brig moored in the blue waters just off the coast of Neverland.  
Seeing the sky occupied with an assorted collection of children was a fairly common occurrence, but this was very different. To begin with, the girl was a good deal older than the band of little miscreants which Peter Pan collected around him. Secondly, she materialised from thin air about ten feet above the deck of the ship, hovering there for a few seconds before plummeting down with a shriek.

The shriek, and the thud of her landing on the deck, immediately dragged the crew's attention away from what they had been doing, prompting them to turn in her direction.  
Seemingly oblivious to her surroundings, the girl lay there for about a minute; her eyes wide open, staring upwards. 'Ouuuuuch,' she breathed rubbing her back, 'well, that was a bad one.'

They were all still frozen in place when there was another thud, this time from inside the captain's cabin, followed by the sound of a male voice swearing loudly. The cabin door burst open with a resounding crash, and out stalked Captain James Hook: the pirate so terrible that even Barbeque feared him; the hook he had in place of a hand glinting evilly in the sunlight, a pistol brandished in the other.

'Will someone kindly inform me what in the blazes is happening out here,' he barked angrily. 'Is the blasted boy back?' He spat out the word boy with intense loathing.

It was at this moment, that the girl chose to spring to her feet.  
'Well,' she commented wryly to no one in particular, dusting herself off, 'that's going to hurt in the morning.'  
She ignored the colourful cast of characters arrayed before her, chief amongst them, the glowering pirate captain; and turned slowly around on one heel.  
'Looks late 18th century. Possibly the Carribbean. But…' She used her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and stared out over the water towards the island, 'the sea looks weird, sky looks weird and island… what a surprise, also weird. Warrants further closer inspection.'  
Finally seeming to catch onto the fact that she was being observed by collection of heavily armed men, she flashed them all a dazzling smile and rummaged around in the bag slung over her shoulder. She pulled out a note card and began to read, making corresponding hand gestures as she did so.

'Greetings, one and all. I come in peace.  
For your own safety and mine, pleased do not: try to burn me as a witch, sacrifice me to the ancient gods to prevent a coming apocalypse or eat me – I promise I taste awful.  
If you have any myths/legends/tales, of a god/celestial being/chosen one, then no, I am not she, so please do not try to offer me your kingdom/first born child/worldly possessions/favourite cow.  
I have come here on official business and will be on my way once it is completed.  
Thank you for your attention.'

She shoved the card back into her bag and stood there looking at them expectantly, arms crossed in front of her.  
'Well,' she said, 'can the rest of you talk or is this some kind of colony for the speech impaired. In which case, I know ten different forms of sign language.'

The captain, who had been staring at her until now, with an expression which was half confusion, half irritation, strode forward until he was standing right in front of her.  
'Who are you? he growled, 'did Pan send you?'  
The girl was not exceptionally tall, so Hook towered over her. The girl had to crane her neck to look at him properly, but otherwise she did not appear to be in the least bit intimidated.

'The name,' she said, 'Is Cassandra Eloise Haversham. I'm a time traveller. Time agent, actually, if you want to get into the specifics.' She held her hands out in a rather placating manner, look, I know this is probably a new and strange experience and you might be feeling a bit intimidated and out of your depth but…'  
He cut her off, 'do not try to toy with me – girl. I will give you one last chance to tell me who you really are, and why Pan sent you, before I cut out your heart and feed it to the sharks.'  
She waved her hands at him, ignoring the first part of his sentence, 'wait. What? Did you say, Pan? As in Peter Pan. As in the magical flying boy who never wants to grow up and all that jazz.'

The captain gave her an exasperated look, 'yes. As you very well know, considering he sent you here as some kind of spy or saboteur.'  
'But,' Cassandra said, in the voice of one attempting to work out an extremely complicated mathematical equation, 'Peter Pan is a story. A fairy tale for children. I'm afraid it isn't real. '  
She smiled suddenly, like something was finally dawning on her, 'ohhhh, I get it. You lot must be doing some kind of really elaborate cosplay. I must say, the costumes are almost spot on. But..' gesturing at Hook, 'yours is probably a tiny bit over the top for actual historical accuracy. I mean, it's a bit too Pirates of the Caribbean don't you think.'  
He gave her an extremely angry look, 'you are sorely trying my patience wench. Tell me where the boy is and who you are. Now!'

Cassandra planted her hands firmly on her hips and gave him a rather chilling look.  
'Alright, that's it. I've tried to be polite, as specified under clause 3.27 of my employment contract. So you can jolly well take a step back, mister, and stop yelling at me. Firstly, you can stop being so damned rude. Secondly, I haven't the foggiest where the 'boy' is. Thirdly, are you actually deaf, or are you just stupid because I distinctly recall telling you, quite clearly I might add, who I am only about sixty seconds ago. Fourthly, Do Not, ever call me wench again if you want to get out of this with all your fingers attached!'

The crew stared at her, with almost terrified expressions in their eyes, waiting for the notoriously short-tempered captain to strike her down. But, instead he just chuckled, and sweeping off his hat with an elaborate flourish, gave her a low almost exaggeratedly polite bow.

'Madam, I see I have been remiss in not according you the proper courtesies. I am James Hook, Captain of the Jolly Roger, currently making port off the coast of Neverland.'  
As he said this, he looked her up and down with a practiced eye,  
She was rather a fetching little thing if you got past all the sparks and hostility. She was medium height, with a head of red curls and a reasonably pretty face, made prettier by the fact that she was the first woman he had set eyes on in quite some time. She was dressed strangely, in a brown jacket with lots of buckles and a brown skirt which was shockingly short, ending just below the knee, and showing off quite a lot of leg. On her feet were a pair of tall, sturdy looking black leather boots, which buckled up past the hem of her skirt. She also had a rather heavy looking brown bag slung over one shoulder and a curious device attached to her left wrist.'

'I am sure you must have had a long journey,' he continued, 'would you care to join me in my cabin for some refreshment.'  
She gave him a rather sardonic smile, 'said the spider to the fly.'  
'I beg your pardon?'  
'Never mind. Sure, why not. As long as you can provide a bucket of tea for me to drown myself in.'

He held the door open for her with a bow, she raised one eyebrow, but stepped inside anyway.  
Once she was safely inside, he turned and barked out, 'Smee, fetch some refreshments for our guest.'  
A small man with white hair and spectacles hurried away muttering something along the lines of 'aye aye, captain. Right away.'  
The Captain smiled, and it was not a nice one: cunning and predatory, before letting his face slip back into one of polite cordiality as he entered the cabin.


	2. Chapter 2 - Manly Charms

_**A/N: I have made a few small edits to this chapter, as an anonymous review made me realise I wasn't entirely happy with a couple of things from the original version.**_

The door swung open with a click, narrowly missing the edge of his coat.  
The girl: Cassandra, was sitting on his favourite chair, beside the big hardwood desk, flicking through the ship's log. She glanced up for a moment when he came in, but otherwise ignored him and continued reading.

He stared at her in rather baffled silence. Usually, when he 'invited' people to his cabin, they behaved with a little more trepidation, either acting with exaggerated confidence to conceal their fear, or just downright begging for their lives. This strange woman was just sitting there, looking quite at home, ignoring _him!_

Suddenly, Cassandra closed the book with a snap and rose to her feet, unslinging the bag from her shoulder and dumping it on the ground as she did so.  
She began to pace slowly around the cabin, every so often pausing to pick things up, or poke at the furniture, muttering odd phrases under her breath as she examined them.  
Eventually, she came to a stop just in front of the pirate captain, who was standing in the middle of the room, arms folded, staring at her.

She stared back, and then leaned over and poked him lightly in the chest.  
'Well,' she said thoughtfully, 'you're clearly not a hologram, so we can cross that hypothesis off the list. Could still be some sort of cyborg though, this might be an amusement park from the future.'

'You speak very strangely,' Hook said, still staring, 'half of what you say sounds like words, yet I can discover no meaning in them.'

'Yeah,' she replied, 'that's what happens when your day job is hopping through different historical eras. Great life experience, but it does rather mess up the old vocab, and just about everything else to be perfectly honest. I originally hale from late 15th century Ireland, but I got recruited by the agency when I was seventeen, haven't been back since, almost lost my accent. Been living mostly, when I'm not travelling that is, in 21st century Great Britain. They really do have the best TV shows, and you can get chips with cheese on them.'

She turned around and walked back to the desk, picking up the ship's log again.  
'Wherever or wherever this place is, it looks like you've been here a jolly long time,' she said, waving the log book in his direction. 'Skim reading this, I counted over 20 years of entries in here, and the front page says that this is volume five. As for where _here_ actually is, I have about four current working theories,' she counted off on her fingers, 'one, I could be dreaming, however, I doubt I really doubt I would have dreamed the way some of the men out there smelled. Two this has all been elaborately staged for some unknown purpose and, you and all your crew are, knowingly or unknowingly, playing set roles. Three, this really is the physical manifestation of a fairy tale, in which case, golly gosh, I can't wait to meet Mary Poppins. Fourthly, and in my humble opinion, most likely: this is some kind of parallel or pocket universe, the existence of which, Mr Barrie apparently somehow knew about. Don't know whether it's a natural occurring phenomenon or if someone has intentionally created this place.'  
Cassandra had barely paused to take breath throughout the whole of this speech, and therefore fell silent as she got her breath back.

Hook shrugged, 'as near as I can count, myself and my crew have been trapped in this accursed place for nearly two hundred years. I have no way of being entirely sure however, sometimes the days and nights start to blur together. The weather is unpredictable and the seasons do not seem to work in the normal way.' He gave her a lazy smile, 'but quite enough about my rather dreary circumstances. Let us instead talk of more, pleasant, things.' He took a step forward, until they were almost toe to toe and gazed down into her green eyes with his piercing, sky blue ones. 'We have much in common you and I. We both have the misfortune to lead lonely lives. Both of us could use some… friendly companionship.' He bent down and gently used his hook to brush back a lock of hair which had slid down over her forehead.

Cassandra put both palms on his chest and shoved him back, hard. Although his reflexes kicked in almost immediately, it had still taken him by surprise, causing him to stumble a little before regaining balance.

'How dare you, _girl,_ ' he growled, stalking back towards her, the sunlight beaming through the window shining sinisterly off the razor sharp point of his hook.

Cassandra stood her ground, glaring angrily at him. 'How dare I,' she said, 'HOW DARE I. I am not the one who invaded your personal space and made unsavoury advances.' She shook her head, 'what did you expect my reaction would be,' she dramatically placed one hand to her forehead and put on a high girlish voice, 'oh Captain, you're ever so tall and handsome. My weak womanly self simply cannot resist your manly charms. Take me, take me now!'

Her face dropped back down into one of irritated disgust, 'do you really think I'm that desperate. Not likely. I'll have you know I've had proposals from princes and emperors. Moctezuma II king of the Aztecs tried to make me his chief wife, Napoleon Bonaparte sent me flowers, Julius Caesar, wanted me to elope with him. I said no to all of them, so what makes you think I'd suddenly fall into your arms! Besides, I met you like five minutes ago and that's moving waaaay too fast you pervert.'

They stood there, glaring at each other, but before either could make the next move, there was a rap on the door, and Mr Smee entered bearing a large tray. He took one scared look at the Captain's face before dumping the tray on a small table and bolting.

The Captain's expression gradually relaxed back into one of cordial indifference. 'Forgive me madam, he said, 'I rather overstepped the mark and acted in an exceedingly ungentlemanly manner. I pray you would be so good as to overlook my transgressions and join me for some refreshments.'

Grudgingly, Cassandra nodded her head. Hook pulled out a chair for her, and after a moment's consideration she sat down.

'Let's get this straight. I don't trust you,' she said looking him square in the eye, 'not one little bit. For one thing, you're a pirate, and members of that profession are not generally renowned as the most honourable of folk. So, I just want to make this quite clear: if you try to touch me without my consent, you will find that I am more than capable of protecting myself, and will not be held responsible for any consequences you might face.'  
She smiled sweetly, 'now be a dear and pour yourself a cup of tea so I can make sure you aren't planning to roofie me.'

Hook watched her closely, as she proceeded to gulp down almost the entire pot of tea, and put away quite a sizeable amount of food for a woman her size.  
He smiled to himself, this one was going to be a challenge that much was obvious, but never let it be said that Captain James Hook was not ready and able to face any challenge thrown at him. It might take time, he thought, but he would have her eventually.

 _/_

 _/_

 _ **A/N: If you are at all enjoying my humble story, please leave a review. I'd love to hear what people think/any improvements I could be making.**_


	3. Chapter 3 - Faith Trust and Pixie Dust

Cassandra drained her final cup of tea before turning the cup upside down and examining the bottom. 'Royal Worcester,' she said, 'classy. I know some people who would kill for this tea set.'  
Hook grinned, 'I did.'  
Cassandra raised an eyebrow and carefully put the cup back down, 'yes, well I did rather have a sneaking suspicion you didn't actually pay money for it.'

She fell silent, staring at him with narrowed eyes, an unreadable expression on her face.  
He gave her an amused look, 'Is what you fix your eyes upon so intently a pleasant aspect, madam?' he inquired with a carefully bland smile.

Cassandra gave a small start, as if she had just been awoken from a trance.  
'I was just thinking how ironic this all really is,' she said thoughtfully. 'When I got recruited, they had to teach me how to read, and write too. Back home, the only people who knew how to read were the sons of the aristocracy and some of the rich merchant class - I was a peasant and a girl to boot. The first book I ever read by myself was Peter Pan and Wendy by J.M. Barrie, and here I am, actually in Neverland taking tea with the infamous Captain Hook.' She smiled, 'I must say, he got you pretty spot on _,_ at least when it comes to physical description, _'his hair was dressed in long curls, which at a little distance looked like black candles… His eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy… In dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II…'_ goes on for paragraphs.'

Hook looked a little offended, 'I most decidedly,' he said, 'do not _ape_ anyone. My attire that what befits a gentleman and a pirate. My appearance is half my reputation.'  
'I'm just wondering,' said Cassandra thoughtfully, 'if everything else around here is as accurate to the book? Michael, John and Wendy: were they a thing? What about the Indians, and the lost boys?'

Hook shrugged, 'the devil child has so many evil little miscreants following him around, I cannot keep track of their names. I do however seem to recall he had a girl here at one point, but no longer. As for the Indians, they most assuredly exist, a band of bloodthirsty savages every civilised man would do well to avoid.'  
'You can't say savages,' Cassandra said, 'that's ethnocentric, it's not okay to judge other cultures based on your own. They need to be judged for their own merit.'  
He frowned, 'What in the blazes are you talking about?'  
Cassandra laughed, 'majored in Cultural Anthropology at university, it has a habit of rising to the surface. Anyway, what else is out there, I make it my business to know as much as possible before diving in. Are there mermaids, wild beasts,' she paused, 'the crocodile?'

He snarled, slamming his hook down onto the table where it stuck fast in the wood  
'Pray, do not mention that thrice accursed creature in my presence again,' he ground out, 'ever since the demon acquired a taste for my flesh, it has been stalking me, day and night without rest. Waiting for its chance to devour the rest of me. It's probably out there as we speak, lurking in the depths. The infernal ticking driving me insane'  
He pulled the hook out with a grunt, the wood splintering around it.

'Wow,' Cassandra said, 'sounds like that's a bit of a sore subject. Can't say I really blame you.' Her brow furrowed, 'so the kid really did cut off your hand then?'  
'Yes,' Hook said bitterly, 'and when his day of judgment arrives I shall use this hook to rip out his lungs.'  
'That's not really normal behaviour for a child,' Cassandra said, 'I never really thought about it before, but that's kind of a terrible thing to do.'

She picked up another sandwich, devouring it in one bite, before dusting off the crumbs and standing up. It was her general policy to eat as much as possible when it was offered in a new place, you never knew when your luck might change, and she only had limited emergency rations.  
'Well,' she said, 'this was lovely, I do enjoy a good tea party. Thanks for the hospitality and the information, hope you get your revenge and all that, but now I really must dash, I have a job to do.'  
She walked over and picked up her bag.  
'Time to go meet the natives.

Out on deck, the weather was still fine, although a brisk salty wind had begun to blow in from the sea.  
Cassandra leaned over the railing, the breeze rustling her hair, looking out towards the island which loomed up in the distance.  
From what she could see, it was a fairly large island, most of it covered in dense forest. A couple of smallish mountains protruded from the tree line. She could also just make out a couple of what looked to be man-made structures in some of the less thickly forested portions. 'Doesn't look too far,' she mused, 'and the tide's coming in, so at least I won't have to fight the current all the way to shore.'  
She turned around, hands shoved into the front pockets of her jacket. 'What can you tell me about the island itself? Anything I need to look out for in particular?'  
He remained silent, watching her.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, 'oh well, guess I'll find out on my own. Let's hope I don't fall into a swamp in the process.'  
Finally, he spoke, 'I am dreadfully afraid, my dear, that unless you are planning on sprouting wings and flying, you won't be leaving.'  
'Is that so? And, who's going to stop me? _You.'  
_ He smiled, that dangerous predatory smile she had glimpsed earlier, 'not at all,' he said smoothly, 'I simply have no intention of providing you with a vessel with which to convey yourself to shore. What I will do however is assure you that you will be made most comfortable aboard my ship.' He sauntered closer, 'perhaps we could even come to some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement,' he flashed her a roguish look and leaned forward, 'you might even enjoy yourself.'

Cassandra snorted, 'you really have no idea when it's time to admit defeat do you. And here I was, beginning to rethink my first impression of you, but apparently it was entirely correct; you're nothing more than a pathetic, lecherous Casanova. Did you not get the message earlier? I'll repeat it one more time for the convenience of your clearly incapacitated intellect. I have no intention of being seduced, or whatever the heck this is, by you. Try to lay a finger on me and I'll maim you. How much fun do you think it's going to be trying to cope without the use of your other hand?' She gave him an evil smile, 'and as for flying, isn't all it takes a little bit of faith, trust and pixie dust.'

She rummaged around in her bag, pulling out a small canister and what appeared to be a handful of black sticks.  
'Anyway,' she said, 'I, like the boy scouts, always come prepared. You, might want to take a step back.'  
She threw the canister down on the deck, where it bounced once before splitting open with a bang, the contents puffing out and inflating with a loud hiss up into a small boat.  
The crew looked on in fearful astonishment, 'sorcery,' one of them gasped in a horrified voice. 'Nope,' Cassandra said cheerfully, as she fitted the sticks together to form a pair of paddles, 'just a little bit of helpful technology I borrowed from the future.'

She picked up the end of the piece of cord attached to the boat and tied it to her wrist. Dragging the boat to the railing, she shoved it over the side. With the paddles tucked under her arm, she swung her leg over the railing and began to climb down the rope ladder attached to the side of the ship.  
Captain Hook, who had, until now, been watching events with almost as much astonishment as his crew, moved forward as if to come after her. She flashed him a smug smile, 'Captain, I bid you my leave. Dreadfully afraid I shall have to turn down your kind offer because, as you see, it turns out I am leaving after all.'  
She gave him a mocking salute before quickly clambering down the ladder out of sight.

Hook stood at the side, watching the small boat bob along in the water, heading steadily towards shore with the tide.  
Smee nervously materialised at his side. 'Any orders Captain? Should I order the boats to be sent out in pursuit?'  
The captain dragged his hook along the rail, leaving a deep gouge in the polished wood. Smee's hands were shaking as he took a step back. He knew from unfortunate experience that the captain was never so dangerous as when, instead of raging, he maintained a façade of calm.  
Hook whirled on one heel, the red velvet of his coat fluttering behind him.  
'No,' he said a grim smile on his face, 'I think we shall leave Miss Haversham to face the dangers of the island alone. If she survives, I'll wager it will not take her long to come crawling back here, begging for my protection.'

He stalked back to his cabin, shutting the door hard behind him. Only then, could the crew and Mr Smee breathe easy. It wasn't unusual, for Captain Hook, when crossed to take out his anger on the nearest available person. Many of the crew had scars to prove it, and many more were too dead to prove anything.  
In his cabin, Hook paced backwards and forwards. Never before had anyone defied him as this little slip of a girl had, and he meant to make her pay for her insolence. He rather hoped that she wouldn't be devoured by some wild beast, he would relish the chance to break her.

Meanwhile, out on the water, Cassandra was nearing the island. It was lucky, she thought that the beach she was being propelled towards was sandy and relatively safe in appearance, rather than surrounded by jagged rocks. The tide was still rolling in strong, so she did not have to expend much energy rowing. She gave Captain Hook one last consideration. On the whole, she thought, it was probably best never to meet one's childhood heroes, it wasn't entirely pleasant when they turned out to be wildly overgrown egos who kept trying to make indecent proposals.  
She felt the bottom of the boat scrape the sand, and then thought of nothing else but what was before her.

 _ **A/N: If you have any suggestions regarding how I could improve my story, please let me know in a review. I'm trying to get better at writing, and the only way I can do that, is through feedback**_ __


	4. Chapter 4 - I Come In Peace

The portions of the island visible from Cassandra's landing place were stunningly beautiful. She had come to shore in a natural harbour, protected somewhat from the open sea.  
As she waded through the last few inches of water, pulling the boat behind her, she gazed around the beach; it looked as if it had been torn straight out of a travel catalogue.  
The sand was white, very soft and fine, almost like powdered sugar. The sea, which lapped up in little waves over the shore was a deep, vibrant turquoise, like nothing she had encountered before.  
Palm trees dotted along the dunes, their sweeping green fronds fluttering in the slight breeze.  
The beach slopped slightly upwards, bordered as far as the eye could see by dense foliage. Rushing out from a gap in the trees was a large creek, which widened, eventually flowing out into the ocean, fresh water mingling with salty.

Cassandra had been knocking about through space and time for quite a while now, and was no stranger to exotic locales and spectacular views. But this place, this place was something special and it took her breath away. There was nothing she wanted to do more than park a deck chair next to a palm tree and spend the entire day enjoying the sun – an icy beverage in one hand and an excellent novel in the other.  
She shook her head sadly, alas, it was not to be. She was on the job after all, so work first, vacation later. Also, while her bag was surprisingly spacious, it still wouldn't stretch to fitting a deck chair and a slushy machine.

She turned to take one last look at the bay. She could see the Jolly Roger, still moored there, the wind billowing the sails and fluttering the black flag. As far as she could see, no boats had been sent out to pursue her. When she had made her exit, she really had not be sure how Captain James Hook would respond. The man had an ego the size of Canada, and she was pretty sure that not getting his way was not something he was accustomed to. At least he hadn't sent out the cavalry at this point, it would have been rather inconvenient to have to scamper around unknown territory trying to dodge a horde of angry pirates.

She turned to look inland, towards the group of mountains which could be seen protruding from the forest. The first step, she decided, would be to scale one of them, and from that vantage point, take a good look around for any populated areas. Cassandra was not entirely sure who she was looking for. It was one of those annoying assignments where an alert comes in and you just get blasted off into time looking for the source. All new time agents recruited by the agency had a chip implanted in their skulls. The chips had two primary functions: one, they worked as a translation system, allowing for comprehension and fluency in almost every existing language. Two, in the event that someone went rogue and absconded with company technology, the chip would create a signal which could be tracked and followed by any agent assigned to the case. The tracking device attached to her wrist would alert her when she had discovered the rogue agent; unfortunately, however it only activated in a very close proximity, meaning, oh joy of joys, she would have to traipse over the entire place scanning for her prey.

Cassandra dragged the boat up the beach, her boots sinking into the sand as she went. She brought it just inside the tree line, where she tied it to the trunk of a palm tree and concealed it beneath some fallen fronds. She had some spares in her satchel, but it never hurt to have an emergency escape plan that no one else was aware of and that would still be available if one's possessions were thrown into a volcano to appease an angry god.

Satisfied with the concealment of her vessel, Cassandra began her trek towards the mountain, following the path of the creek. Inside the forest, the foliage was very thick, the canopy obscuring most of the sky, leaving the forest floor dark and shadowy. It certainly was not as pleasant as the beach, in fact it had a rather sinister air about it, and she could quite easily believe that there might be unimaginable horrors lurking behind every tree. Even the creek took on a more ominous aspect, becoming very wide and murky. At one point, she could have sworn she saw something large flash past, just under the surface of the water.

She pressed onwards, the trees leaning closer together and apparently growing spikier the nearer she reached the mountain. She was forced to move slightly away from the course of the creek, the banks had become steep and slippery, and the trees pressed too closely to the edge. After several hours of clambering over fallen trunks and dragging herself through thickets which grabbed at her hair and scratched her face, she arrived, rather dishevelled at the base of one of the mountains. The others in the range looked too tall and precipitous to tackle without equipment, but this one looked more manageable. She wouldn't be able to get a complete 360 degree view of the island, but at least she would be able to see more than her current position allowed. Closer to the base, its slopes were covered in foliage, becoming sparser as the altitude increased, leaving the summit mostly bare.

She looked up at it and gave a small groan. Manageable was in this case a relative term, the mountain was still very tall and quite steep as well. To top it all off, she had a persistent, dull ache in her lower back, courtesy of her rather bumpy landing. She considered making camp, and attempting it in the morning, but decided against it as the sun was still high, and it would really only be delaying the inevitable.  
'Cheer up old thing,' she told herself, 'at least this isn't nearly as bad as the time you almost fell into Mount Vesuvius, or the time when you accidentally insulted Alexander the Great and had to book it while the entire Macedonian army hurled spears at you.'  
She took a swig from the water bottle she had stashed in her bag, and then rather grudgingly began her ascent.

It took another two and a half hours to reach the summit. By the time she got there, she was perspiring, and her hair had frizzed up from the heat. She had removed the jacket, which was now tied low around her hips. She plopped herself down on a convenient boulder and downed some more water. It wasn't that she wasn't physically fit, it was just that it had been one steep mountain. She'd almost toppled into a crevice at one point. She pulled a piece of cloth out of her bag and used it to dab the sweat off her face and neck.

At least, her earlier assumption had been correct, and that the top did indeed afford her a splendid view of most of the island. Large portions of it were covered in the same kind of forest she had spent most of the morning clawing her way through. To her right, she could see a lagoon, and a bit further on, a rocky, oddly shaped island. To the left was more forest, but different, less tropical trees, in fact, it looked like a Pine forest. And, most interesting in her opinion, was what looked to be another, smaller island, joined to the larger one by a small spit of land. On it, she could see some kind of settlement, which must have been the one she glimpsed from the Jolly Roger. If anywhere was a logical next step, it was there.

By the time she made it down the mountain – it had been slow going, because the steep descent and loose gravel made footing treacherous, night was starting to fall.  
It was obvious she would never make it to the settlement before it got dark. It was at least a day's walk away, maybe more.  
Cassandra looked askance at the gloomy forest. There was no way she was sticking around down here to find out what kind of creatures came out at night. During the travels of the day, she hadn't encountered much wildlife, but she had caught glimpses of shadowy shapes, and seen other signs that she wasn't alone amongst the trees.

As dusk gathered around her, she climbed a tree. It was tall, with a thick trunk, and just enough branches to allow her to get up quite far. She settled herself into a place where two branches met, and using a piece of rope she always carried with her, she secured herself to the branch. She wrapped a piece of waterproof sheeting around herself and closed her eyes.  
Sleep did not come easily that night, she dozed fitfully, all too alert to the rustles and peculiar sounds originating from below and around her. She only hoped, that whatever was down there hadn't discovered the knack of climbing trees.

She must have fallen into a relatively deep sleep at some point just before dawn however, because she was awoken sometime later by the rays of sun which slanted down through the leaves overhead. Groggily, Cassandra rubbed the sleep from her eyes. With clumsy fingers she untied the knot from around her waist and half climbed, half fell out of the tree. She lost her balance on the last branch, bruising her knees as she landed with a thump. Groaning, she struggled to her feet and leaned against the trunk of the tree. She was stiff, and sore, her back felt like it had been kicked by a horse and her legs still felt cramped from hours spent in a less than comfortable position.  
Too many weeks off the job, lying on the couch eating cheese fries and watching _Suits_ had clearly made her go a bit soft.

Cassandra ate some emergency rations, then deciding it was best to be on her way as swiftly as possible, seeing as how she had no desire to spend another night in a tree, shrugged her bag back over her shoulder and headed off in the direction of the settlement she had spotted the day before. As she wove her way through the trees, Captain Hook's words about blood-thirsty Indians echoed in her ears.

Late afternoon was fading into evening when she finally reached the strip of land which connected the two islands together. She had travelled the entire day, pausing only briefly to rehydrate at intervals. The landscape she had trekked through had been varied to say the least, through forests and valleys, over hills and under cliffs, as well as through one particularly memorable swamp, traces of which still clung to her attire.  
Some of the flora and fauna had been recognisable, but much of it was strange and new, unidentifiable as anything found in botanical volumes of academia. This place was unnatural and more than a little unsettling.

From a closer vantage point, Cassandra could see that the settlement consisted of several small groups of wooden structures, arranged in circles.  
It was obviously habituated, with people of various descriptions, visible in the distance. She slipped behind a tree, and considered her options. Trying to sneak up was clearly a bad idea, there was zero chance she wouldn't be spotted by the sentries at the other end of the land-bridge. On the other hand, if she simply waltzed up, they might still perceive her as a threat. She liked being alive and having all her limbs, so wasn't in a hurry to take any chances. White flag was always an option, but she had no way of knowing how they would react, while many people recognise a white flag as a sign of peaceful approach, to other cultures it might mean, 'I am armed and extremely dangerous,' or 'I would like to feast on your children.' Heck, she wasn't even one hundred percent sure that the translation device would even function properly. Neverland was not supposed to exist, so there was a chance it would not be able to pick up whatever language the natives spoke.

In the end, she decided to go for the most direct approach. Walk forward slowly with your hands in the air, loudly proclaiming 'I come in peace, take me to your leader,' while still being ready to turn tail and bolt at the first sign of war paint and poisoned arrows.  
The sentries made no attempt to approach her, they stood there, arms crossed, watching her as she walked slowly towards her.  
She could see that behind them, a small crowd had gathered. They all stood there in silence observing her progress.  
She came to a halt a few feet in front of the sentries, hands still in the air.

'Hello,' she said carefully, 'I come in peace.'  
One of the sentries, a tall man with caramel coloured skin and a shock of thick black hair raised one eyebrow, 'we heard you the first seventeen times,' he said in perfect English.

 _ **A/N: Sorry if this chapter was a little dull, I didn't want to do a 'and she walked through the forest until she found the Indians' thing and I thought it would be a good opportunity to describe the island a little better.  
Apologies in advance if I am a bit slow getting future chapters up, I'm going to be really busy around Christmas/New Year.  
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays **___


	5. Chapter 5 - Girl Who Falls Through Time

Cassandra froze, hands still raised above her head, 'Ah,' she said, 'I seem to have committed the error of approaching your culture with a set of preconceived biases. However you can hardly blame me, after all there was that one time with the human sacrifices and all the flaying knives and the screaming and running, and they all looked so perfectly genial to begin with too.'  
The man gave her the kind of blank stare which would have made a statue proud.  
'Since you clearly speak English, and very skilfully I might add, you obviously heard the other bit about being taken to your leader? Well, it would be very helpful if you could possibly manage it. I certainly would understand your reluctance to let a…'  
'How have you come here?' the man interrupted abruptly.

'To be honest, I didn't particularly relish the idea of spending another night perched in a tree. I saw your charming village while doing a spot of mountaineering yesterday, and I just thought, why not pop over for a little visit. Sooo, then I sort of walked here.'  
He shook his head firmly, 'no, how come you to be here, on this island? You are much too old to belong to the boy, for above all he despises the grown. Your clothing, though strange has not suffered through shipwreck. If  
your vessel survived whole, where then is the crew?'  
'Shipwreck… vessel,' Cassandra muttered, 'he never mentioned… makes sense… temporal rift… hypothetically, whole ship… sucked through…'  
The man coughed, snapping Cassandra's attention back. 'Sorry,' she said, making an apologetic face, 'I was thinking out loud again, wasn't I. As for how I got here, that,' said Cassandra, flashing him a brilliant smile, as she ever so slowly lowered her hands, 'is really a rather long story.'  
The man stared at her in silence for several minutes, apparently considering her words. Finally, he spoke, 'I have decided to conduct you to the king. He will hear your story, and with his infinite wisdom judge what should become of you. I will do you the courtesy of not searching you for weapons, but should you attempt to use one... we will stop you.'  
Dragging her satchel more securely over one shoulder, Cassandra shrugged, 'understood, considering you're the ones with the big pointy spears, I think I'll probably just smile and follow you.'

The small crowd parted wordlessly to allow them passage. As they passed through, Cassandra glanced around her. Despite what Mr Barrie and the pirates seemed to think, these people were most certainly not Indians, at least, not the majority. There were at least five different distinguishable ethnicities represented, probably more. Cassandra filed this piece of rather interesting information into the _review when one is sure they are out of immediate danger,_ compartment of her brain.

Just as silently, the crowd closed ranks behind them, turning to stare as the sentry led the way towards the centre of the settlement.  
The King's house was larger than those surrounding it, but otherwise, possessed no outward signs of prestige or ostentation. It was constructed simply from beams of hewn oak, with two large, un-embellished doors propped wide open, seemingly inviting entry.  
Inside, a small entry-room led into a larger one, sparsely furnished, with undecorated walls and only a few pieces of wooden furniture situated about the room. At the far end, Cassandra could see a man, seated on a bench in front of a low table, partaking of some kind of meal. It was towards this person that her guide led her. As they drew closer, Cassandra surreptitiously glanced around the room. Throughout the course of her career, she had seen the inside of many a throne-room, but none as unassuming as this. Whoever this king was, he looked like a force to be reckoned with. Anyone who managed to gain and hold such a position without surrounding himself with overt displays of his power and grandeur, clearly had other things going for him.

The sentry came to an abrupt halt a few paces from the other man, and motioned with his hand for Cassandra to do likewise.  
The man looked up from his plate, 'Raathan,' he said with a smile, 'I see you have brought a visitor.'  
Raathan gave a slight bow, deep enough to signal deference, but not so deep as to suggest an attempt at ingratiation. 'I bring this woman to you king. She came over the land bridge mere minutes ago, on foot, requesting audience with our leader.' The man he had addressed as king smiled, 'thank you Raathan,' he said in a low melodious voice as he turned his head to scrutinise Cassandra. He was of rather indiscriminate age, possibly being situated anywhere in the region of thirty-five to sixty. He had a dark lined face, and extremely lively eyes. His hair was mostly crow black, with a few hints of grey.  
As he continued to stare at Cassandra, his eyes focused on hers, narrowing, and his expression becoming more guarded.  
Abruptly, he shifted his focus back onto Raathan, 'you have my thanks for bringing this young woman to me my friend,' he said, 'but I would now ask that you return to your post. Your watchful eye is a valuable asset to us all.'  
Raathan flashed him a questioning look, the king looked back, shaking his head infinitesimally. Raathan nodded, and turned on his heel to leave.  
'I wonder if you would close the door on your way out,' the king said, 'I fancy detect a slight chill forming in the air.'  
When the doors had been fastened, and they were left alone, facing each other, the king shifted on his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face, and turned his full attention towards her.

'What do you call yourself, girl who falls through time? He asked.  
Cassandra stared at him, 'tell me how you come to that hypothesis and I might consider telling you my name.'  
The king smiled, 'It is in your eyes. Your face may not bear the mark of the years you carry, but the eyes on the other hand never lie. Yours' betray your true age, an age, I might add, you could not have reached by any natural means.'  
Cassandra cracked a smile, 'give the man a prize. My name, well, as close as anyone will ever get to it, is Cassandra Eloise Haversham… You know, not many people's first guess is time traveller. It's usually foreigner, or witch. You have absolutely no idea how many times people have tried to burn me at the stake. It's a very real occupational hazard they really need to start warning recruits about at orientation.'

'The concept of moving through time is not so strange to us,' the king said, 'most of us were not born here. The majority of us were traders and sailors, a few colonists. Over the years, a few at a time have found their way here, in a similar manner, from many places and ages. I was one of the first. There was a great storm, my ship was wrecked many, many miles from any shore. One moment I was struggling to keep my head above water in a dark and stormy ocean, the next I was being swept up onto an unfamiliar beach in calm waters, with the sun blazing down on my skin.'  
Cassandra nodded knowingly, 'ah, as I wondered, a temporal rift. Right out in the middle of the ocean, possibly even located below the surface. I don't think,' she said, after a moment's pause, 'that this place is located on any known map. At a guess, based on unfamiliar positioning of stars and constellations I would say it may not even be of this world.'

'And you, tell me, how did you find your way here?' the king asked.  
'As I told the other one, Raathan, I think you said his name was, it's rather a long story, but I'll try to shave it down for easier consumption. I work for a… group of people who were one of the first, well, first humans anyway, to develop the technology making directed time travel possible. Recruits like myself are sent out through time to observe and report on historical events, gather certain artefacts, clean up damages done by unlicensed time travel, and occasionally, which is in fact why I am here, track down former employees who are in serious violation of their contracts and/or have purloined company technology. This thing,' she said, lightly tapping the device attached to her wrist, 'is a vortex manipulator, the thing which allows me to travel without an actual time machine. Those things tend to stand out a bit more, especially when the chameleon circuits play up. We, unlike others I might mention, try to keep a low profile. Anyway, as well as time travel, this thing can also pick up on a signal sent out by a tracking chip activated when an agent goes rogue. That signal somehow led me to this island.'

The king, who had been listening with an expression of interested concentration, clasped his hands together in his lap and cleared his throat before speaking, 'and do you believe that the individual which you seek has made their home here, in our village?'

'Not with any degree of certainty. I mainly headed in this direction in search of shelter. Necessity forced me to sleep in a tree last night. A thoroughly unpleasant experience which left me with awful back cramp. There were also,' she said with a shudder, 'some rather unfriendly sounding noises issuing from the forest floor after nightfall.'

The king nodded, 'you were wise not to remain down in the forest after dusk. There are many creatures native to this island, many of which are dangerous.'  
In one surprisingly fluid motion, he rose to his feet. Hurriedly, Cassandra followed suit.  
'You are most welcome to pass the night within the village,' the king said, 'you are neither a danger to myself or my people and I would not turn a solitary traveller out into the dark and danger of the night.'  
Cassandra flashed him a beaming smile, 'It is with my most heartfelt gratitude that I accept your generous hospitality your majesty. I appreciate the opportunity to sleep in a fully horizontal position.'  
'One more thing. This person you seek, how will you know when you have located them?'  
Cassandra waved her wrist at him, 'this will start making a high pitched beeping sound. Only activates in rather close proximity unfortunately.'  
'I will gather everyone in the square for you to examine. If this person walks among us I wish to know. It is not my intent to harbour thieves and traitors.'

An hour later, Cassandra turned away from the last person, shaking her head. 'You're all clean,' she said to the king, 'are you sure this is absolutely everyone.'  
He nodded his head in affirmation, 'every man, woman and child, from the oldest, down to the youngest.'  
Cassandra ran a hand through her hair, 'are there any more populated areas on the island?' she asked.  
'Aside from this village, the only other human inhabitants are the pirates which skulk in the cove… and the boy.'  
'The pirates… well, let us just say that we have made each other's acquaintance, but the boy, you don't mean… Peter Pan do you?'  
He gave her a long hard look. 'You are correct, the boy calls himself the Pan. At last I knew, he and his band of boys had made a camp many hours east of here, beneath the trunk of a great tree. We do not often venture far from the village, and for good reason. Here we have defences, the bridge across the sea gives us an advantage over attackers. In the past, the pirates tried several times to lay waste to us and steal our women, but were successfully repelled. Now, they do not bother us, but we dare not venture close to the cove. In other directions, there are countless other dangers. As for the boy… that is a topic which I am unwilling to discuss.'

That night, the king held a feast for the whole village. Cassandra enjoyed herself far more than she thought she would. The food was relatively simple in nature, but entirely palatable. The cultural anthropology major that lived inside her also found the entire thing a very interesting ethnographic study. She rather wished she had had a chance to conduct her doctoral research there.  
Once their initial wariness had worn off, the villagers became far more hospitable.  
Also, no one was trying to kill her and she hadn't had her drink spiked and ended up dancing on a table top.

Much later, as Cassandra lay on a camp bed in the king's daughter's room, she finally allowed herself to feel some degree of excitement about the whole thing. After all, it wasn't every day that you found yourself stepping into the pages of a story.  
'What is it like, out in the world?' Tiger Lilly asked.  
Cassandra sat up and stared off in the darkness towards her. 'How do you mean?'  
'I've never known anything other than this island. I was born here. My father and others have spoken of the other place, but after so many years, they have forgotten much. I wish you would tell me what your life is.'  
'Well,' Cassandra said, 'apart from the whole time travel thing, my life is really very ordinary. I have a flat. I watch shows, cook some stuff, go shopping, read a lot of books. I like the adventure of travelling, but the constant danger, and having to run away from big scary things that want to eat your face off gets pretty stressful pretty quickly, that's why we get frequent vacation days.'  
There was silence for a moment, 'what are _shows,'_ Tiger Lilly asked.  
Cassandra sighed, 'this is going to be a long night.'

Many miles away, Hook stood on the deck of his ship, staring out with hooded eyes, across the waves and towards the shore He had been so certain that the confounded girl would take one look as the island and come running back, asking, nay begging for his protection. But, there had been nary a glimpse of her for more than a day now, and another night was already drifting down over the island. The thought that she may have been consumed by some wild beast before he had had an opportunity to become more intimately acquainted with her irritated the captain to no end. He glared at the island, grinding the point of his hook into the rail, sending wood splintering out in every direction, before stalking back to his cabin and slamming the door. Hook would decide how to deal with this matter in the morning, in the meantime, he would drink, to forget that he was stranded in this accursed place.

 _ **A/N:**_ Apologies for the lateness of this chapter. Christmas, New Year, a nasty virus and hay fever, not to mention the necessity for several rewrites slowed this chapter down a lot. Hope it was worth the wait. Also, this is an updated version of the original I posted a while ago. 


	6. Chapter 6 - Forest of Nightmares

The morning dawned calm and clear, a warm breeze floated in from the ocean, bringing with it just a hint of salt tinged air. It was the perfect day for a picnic in paradise… or a pleasant jaunt – clambering through the jungle in search of a possibly dangerous fugitive of unknown origin.

Cassandra arose reasonably refreshed. After she had finished trying to explain the key events of the 21st century and why there was only one season of Firefly to Tiger Lilly, she had managed to enjoy a pleasant night in a comfortable bed (in other words, one that wasn't a) a tree and b) surrounded by untold hordes of ravening beasts.)  
She clawed her now rather tangled hair into a braid and shrugged on a clean shirt from her satchel before joining the king and his daughter for breakfast.

Knowing that this could be the last decent meal in the foreseeable future, she ate steadily in relative silence until her hunger was satisfied. 'So,' she said finally, swallowing a last bite of bread, 'I know you said you didn't really want to talk about, I can't believe I'm saying this, Peter Pan and the Lost Boys, but do you think you could bring yourself to point me in their general direction? I'd really rather not spend the next week wandering through swamps and canyons.'

The king frowned, 'it is thankfully only rarely that we cross paths, but I still know that none of the boy's compatriots are physically older than around twelve years of age. He takes them as children, some from families whose only failing was ignorance of the dangers of open nursery windows, others are foundlings and orphans. All are young. You believe that one of them is who you seek? Does your employer indenture children to his service?'  
Cassandra shook her head, 'I'm certain the fugitive is an adult, but to quote the Immortal Sherlock Holmes, _when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth._ It isn't entirely outside the realms of possibility that they could be lurking somewhere, alone, but if it was me I wouldn't be. I would make tracks for the first settled area and assimilate myself into the local population. Surviving long-term, alone in a potentially hostile environment is a challenge for anyone.' She glanced at the king, 'since you said there were no other populated areas that now only leaves the Lost Boys. I more or less covered the pirates immediately and then yourselves to no avail, and I'd really rather not have to check the pirates again. I'm afraid we didn't part on the most congenial of terms.'

The king smiled, 'this Mr Holmes sounds like a wise man, and your process of thought is indeed logical. If you see no other course, take a day's walk towards the east, then north, following the curve of the bay. The boy makes his lair under the Dead Man's Tree.'  
Cassandra whistled, 'and I was just starting to think this place couldn't get any creepier. Is there really a big rock shaped like a skull?

Half an hour later, Cassandra was packed up and ready to make her departure. She stood at the village entrance, with the king and his daughter beside her, assorted villagers looking on from the background. The king pointed out, across the land bridge towards the trees which skirted the cliffs overlooking the ocean. 'That direction should be the start of your journey. I wish that luck will follow you and that all your house will prosper.'  
Cassandra smiled her thanks, and shouldering her satchel began to walk away.  
'Take care,' the king called after her, 'do not underestimate the boy as others have done before you.'

At first, the journey proved more pleasant than she had anticipated, the day was a fair one, and the path pleasant enough. She walked along, a spring in her step, singing softly under her breath and swinging her satchel.

By the time the sun began to drop in the sky, matters were quite different. The ground had become more perilous, with rocks and hollows making miss-stepping and rolling an ankle easy. Sweat trickled down the hollow of her back and her feet were starting to hurt. Also, she was down to her last brownie square which was making her very cranky.

And, to top it all off, she came to the forest of nightmares.  
It was big, it was dark and it looked like it had come straight off the front cover of one of the horror stories she now regretted reading. The trees were packed tightly together, malformed and twisted, the branches reaching out like bony fingers, a few blackened leaves clinging like desiccated flesh.  
If Baba Yaga, the Big Bad Wolf, Dracula and the hunter from Bambi were real, they would probably hang out in this forest.  
Cassandra stood there for some minutes, staring askance at the ominously distorted foliage ahead.  
She grimaced and then shook herself, 'toughen up Haversham,' she growled, 'if you can survive afternoon tea with the cannibal king, you're more than capable of making it through one little forest.' She straightened herself up and before she could think about it too hard, strode forward.

Another two hours dragged past. The sky began to darken. The trees pressed closer together, snatching at hair and clothes. If it weren't for the faint trail she had been following, Cassandra would have found herself well and truly lost. She only hoped, that the path was carrying her in the right direction. The further in she ventured, the fainter the path became, and the murkier the forest. Cassandra had seen enough movies to know that she would probably stumble upon a house made of gingerbread, or a cursed mansion any minute now.  
Instead, she found a tree. Obviously, the forest, as forests tend to be, was made of trees, but this one was different. To begin with, it was larger than its fellows and was situated in a clearing.  
As well as the tree, the clearing also seemed to be home to a band of motley, ill-kempt youths.  
Several were tumbling about in the dirt, wrestling viciously, some perched high up in the branches, others lounged against its trunk, fidgeting with assorted weapons of various description.  
On the whole, they looked far more dangerous than twelve year old boys have any business to.

She was more than half tempted to turn around and never look back until she reached the relative safety of the world outside the forest. But, even as her body tensed for retreat, an inconveniently placed twig snapped beneath the heel of her boot.  
Instantly, the boys in the clearing snapped to attention, eyes trained towards where she was standing. She froze, unsure how to proceed, after all she had found exactly what she had been searching for, but on the other hand discretion was the better part of valour.  
In the end, she opted for the direct approach. Plastering on her best _I am a strong capable woman who is not in the least intimidated because this is just another typical day in the office for me_ look, she stepped out into the clearing with as much confidence as she could muster.

'Greetings, one and all. My name's Cassandra. Tell me, who are all you charming lads?'  
The boys stared at her in sullen silence, until one, seemingly taking charge, swung himself down from a branch and sauntered towards her.  
He was tall and wiry, with sharp fox feature, a thatch of unkempt hair of indiscriminate colouring and an unsettling, almost feral look in his eyes.  
Casually, he reached into his pocket and drew out a large, wicked looking knife, which he began to toss from one hand to the other.  
'You look like a grown-up, a great ugly one. We hate grown-ups more than anything,' he said, spitting out the word grown-ups as if it were a curse.'

Cassandra smiled, 'I'm not really a grown-up,' she lied, 'just freakishly tall for my age. Practically a giant. All the other kids at home think it's hilarious.'  
The boy smiled, he had alarmingly pointy teeth, for a human. It also did not appear that he was buying her story.  
'Are you Peter Pan?' she asked.  
He ignored her, instead turning to face the others, 'shall we show the ugly lady how we welcome grown-ups?' he grinned. It was at this stage of proceedings that Cassandra realised the things she had initially assumed were dry sticks hanging from the tree weren't in fact sticks and come to think of it, the dirt on the boys clothes probably wasn't all dirt.  
Trying not to let on, that at this point, she was basically ready to run away shrieking, she folded her arms and stood her ground.  
'I told you,' she said calmly, 'not a grown-up. What I am is a person who has come a very long way to see Peter Pan, so be a lamb and go find him for me.'  
The boy just stared at her, playing with his knife as he did so.

Cassandra had already made up her mind, if the little punk took another step towards her, she was going to pepper spray him, no regrets.  
Thankfully, for both their sakes he did not.  
She tried again. 'Look, I completely understand why you might be a tiny bit wary of strangers, but I really need to talk to Peter Pan. I'm sure he will be happy to see me.' Remembering something from the book, she hazarded, 'I've come to be your new mother…?'  
Some of the younger boys seemed to perk up at this, 'can you tell as a story?' one asked. 'With lots of stabbings and blood and no kissing,' added another.  
'Of course I can,' Cassandra said, 'I know an especially gruesome one with some beheadings and even an evisceration.'  
To be honest, if it meant the little terrors weren't going to try and eviscerate _her_ , she would happily re-enact the entirety of Titus Andronicus from memory.

The boys looked reasonably happy about this proposition, except for the one who had made first contact. He growled, and whirling around, snarled at the others, 'we don't need a mother. Mothers are stupid, they're for babies and _girls_.Mothers ruin everything, they make you go to bed and take medicine and then they DIE!' His fist tightened convulsively around the hilt of his blade.  
Cassandra hurriedly took a step backwards, reaching into her satchel as she did so.  
Before anything else could happen, there was a loud _cock-a-doodle-do_ and a crackling of branches from the very top of the tree.  
All eyes shot heavenwards. Perched in the branches was another boy, a strange golden light fliting about beside his shoulder. He crowed again, before launching himself into the air, where, instead of plummeting to his death, he glided gently down to the forest floor, to come to rest standing just in front of Cassandra.  
A flying boy, accompanied by a fairy… there was really only one person this could be.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world was filled with silence, then, the device on Cassandra's wrist went berserk. Hurriedly, she pressed the off-switch, but it was obvious everyone in a three mile radius had probably been deafened by it.  
There was one thing, and one thing only this could mean. Somehow, inexplicably, this boy was a rogue time agent. She had no idea why he looked like this, and not knowing could be dangerous in her line of work.

The boy was staring intently, eyes fix on her wrist, an undecipherable expression in his grey eyes. They were not pleasant ones – dark and stormy, like a hurricane was trapped inside, trying to break free.  
Grey eyes… where had she seen grey eyes before.  
She felt her lips move, almost of their own accord, while her brain was still trying to unscramble what it was missing.  
'You must be the famous Peter Pan, I've heard such a lot about you.'  
Not bothering to tear his eyes away from the device the boy spoke, 'what things have you heard?'  
'Oh you know, just the usual, adventurous, likes to fight pirates, leads a band of lost boys, can fly,'

Then, she noticed the scar and it felt like the sky had come tumbling down around her.  
The body she might not recognise, but there was no mistaking that scar. It was a small crescent, close to the nose, cutting through part of the eyebrow and ending just before it reached the eye. She knew it because she had been the one to give it to him… an accident, back when she was still learning.  
Cassandra's heart was hammering out the bass line of a rock concert in her chest, and she was beginning to think she might throw up.  
This was oh, so far above her pay grade.  
The boy's eyes locked onto hers, and he smiled, a small evil smile. 'I know exactly why you have come,' he said, 'so why don't we both drop the pretences.'  
'Here… I'm not here for anything, just paying a visit. I think I might be going now though, it was lovely to meet you all but really must dash.' She knew she was babbling, but it was too bad. She had far bigger things to worry about right now.  
He laughed, 'you know I cannot let you leave.' His voice sounded deeper now, less child-like.  
Cassandra bolted.

/

Captain Hook sat in his cabin, a goblet of claret in his good hand and a dark expression clouding his face. Almost three days had passed since the wench had taken herself off. She would return, tearful and terrified before the night was spent: this he had been certain of.  
He had even gone so far as to envisage a touching scene, where she had swooned, sobbing into his arms, and begged, nay pleaded to be taken under his sheltering wing and protected from the horrors of the world.  
As it transpired however, there had been nary a glimpse of the girl since she had disappeared into the trees days earlier.  
Hook had begun to fear that she had been torn to shreds by some wild creature and now probably lay in pieces, limbs strewn about the forest floor. Were this the case, it would be a great shame, considering he had not managed to lay so much as a fingertip upon her fair person.

He took another deep draft of claret, then seeming to come to some kind of decision, slammed the goblet down, liquid sloshing out to drip slowly onto the floor.  
'Smeeee,' he bellowed, 'smmmeeee!'  
Smee arrived in the cabin less than a minute later, red in the face and puffing from exertion.  
'Captain?' he wheezed.  
Hook stood in the middle of the cabin. He was, at least in Smee's estimation, a fearsome sight.  
A coat of blood velvet flowed down to his knees, his hair as black as midnight, the hook as sharp and deadly as ever. But what really drove the fear deep into Smee's heart was his eyes, which seemed to shine with a red glow of madness.

He turned this fearsome gaze onto Smee, causing the man to quake at the knees.  
'Have the boats readied. At first light we will make landfall. If that wench is alive anywhere on that accursed island, I will find her, and I will drag her back whether she wishes it nor no. And then I will…'  
Smee did not hear the last part of his sentence, as he had already blurted out 'Ay ay captain,' and scarpered as fast as was humanly possible.

Hook donned his three cornered captain's hat, and went out on deck. Night had not yet fallen, so he was still afforded a clear view of the island. The ship was now moored just off the incredibly imaginatively named Skull Rock. They had been forced to set sail when the blasted crocodile had been spotted, several times, circling the ship. It had unsettled Hook, a symptom of which being an increase in his intolerance to small misdemeanours, which in turn resulted in the untimely demises of two unfortunate crew members.  
Captain hook stared, out across the waves which billowed and rolled towards the shore, and swore that come hell or high water, the girl would be his. 

_**A/N:**_ Apologies for the delay, I'm a second year BA/LLB student, and university has just started up again, so I've been quite busy. But, fair not, for I will not be abandoning this story, I will continue to update as often as I am able. I also tend to be quite picky, so I often write and rewrite a chapter four or five times before I'm happy, so that means it takes a while at the best of times.


	7. Chapter 7 - Run For Your Life

The forest was filled with silence. Rather than creating a feeling of tranquillity, the lack of sound was heavy, oppressive, and almost physically tangible. Not even the whisper of a bird's wing could be heard; nothing good lived here, and what little else did, tended to slink out at night with bigger teeth than the Big Bad Wolf. A casual observer, standing there, deep among the trees, could be forgiven for assuming that the whole swathe of woodland was all but devoid of life. But, then, from the distance, a crash of branches and the pounding of running feet.

Cassandra ran, heart beating painfully fast, the breath wheezing and burning in her throat. The ground was a minefield of hazards, but she tore on, weaving through the trees and leaping over fallen branches and patches of slippery moss. As she passed, the twisted, talon-like branches of a particularly low-hanging tree tore at her cheek, leaving a stream of blood to trickle down the side of her face. She winced, but gritted her teeth and continued to sprint.

Behind her, another sound could be heard, faint at first, but increasing in volume with each passing heartbeat. It was the harsh, guttural sound of voices, incoherent, yelling. This was accompanied by the crash of branches, but not he dry, dead ones on the forest floor; this was the swish and snap of living foliage up in the forest canopy.  
Cassandra risked one glance behind, then using most of the small measure of strength she had left, picked up her pace.

Not very far away, the hull of a boat scrapped against the sandy bottom of a small cove. Several burly men jumped with a splash into the shallow water. Grunting, they dragged the boat further up the beach. With an air of the dramatic, a man stepped out of the boat, his gleaming boots crunching on the coarse sand and the bottom of his long velvet coat fluttering slightly in the breeze, cutlass and pistols at the ready.  
Captain Hook had made landfall.

He barked out a series of orders, to which the crew scurried to obey: for the boat to be concealed in the foliage, for men to reconnoitre the immediate vicinity and for the rest to await further instruction.  
He turned and surveyed the island which lay before him in all its terrible beauty – the home of his greatest enemy, and the hell in which he found himself trapped.  
Hook smiled thinly. This time, he would not be taken at a disadvantage, as an act of his defiance against this cruel place, he would wrest the girl from its deadly embrace.

Smee watched the captain as he walked up and down the beach. The man was unpredictable and dangerous, but he was also incredibly melodramatic. Smee blamed that Eaton education of his, no good could come of educating a boy when he should be out working.  
Look at him… the man was actually striking a pose. Was he expecting someone to spring out of the ground and do an oil painting? Smee shook his head, he rather hoped that the poor girl managed to stay out of his way, she did not deserve any of this.

Meanwhile, despite Cassandra's best efforts, the distance between herself, the voices, and the bodies that belonged to them was not increasing. The opposite was in fact the case.  
Generally speaking, Cassandra was what you would probably call 'physically fit'. It was part of the job description. Basically if you weren't athletic enough to temporarily outrun a Viking horde bent on revenge, then you quickly found yourself terminated without pay. Literally.

This was different, she'd signed up for the 100 metre sprint, not the London Marathon. At this junction, she was bone-tired, beet red, soaked in sweat and everything hurt. The day had culminated with her sprinting away from Dead Man's Tree as fast as humanly possible, pursued all the while by howling, flying, pre-adolescent boys hurling spears and rocks. When it became too dark to run without actually killing herself, she had spent a sleepless night avoiding both the unseen creatures of pure horror which stalked the forest floor, and the equally terrifying band of juveniles patrolling the canopy. When the first rays of light found their way through the leaves, she had swung down from the tree and run again.

She had no idea how big, or wide the forest was, but it seemed never-ending. The trees appeared alike, with little or no recognisable landmarks visible in any direction. In her flight, she had ventured away from, and possibly in the opposite direction to the path, and there was no finding it now. Cassandra feared that she was either going in completely the wrong direction or worse, running in circles, expending all her energy but getting nowhere.  
And, as the icing on the proverbial cake, all this was on top of barely any sustenance, and even less sleep. The minute she got back to head office, she was demanding a pay rise, a big one.

Despite these less than convivial circumstances, admitting defeat was not on the cards. _He_ would never allow her to surrender alive. And, if push came to shove, she would rather run until her heart stopped than give the brats the satisfaction of catching her. She actually had the sneaking suspicion that he was enjoying this rather sadistic game of cat and mouse.

It was not like she really had any other choices available. Once the device had located its target, it had locked down the time travel abilities until the mission was complete. So, until she put a containment bracelet on the fugitive she was going nowhere that way. This place also appeared to exist outside of the usual space time continuum which, had somehow messed with her ability to call for back up.  
These were just a few of the flaws she had begun to notice with the current standardised company technology. There was supposed to be an upgrade, but so far it had not happened. That was the problem with working for a vaguely shady corporation which technically did not exist because it periodically relocated to different centuries; it was hard to bring up workplace safety issues to the usual authorities without being quizzed about one's sanity.

Amidst all this despair, a ray of hope appeared before her. Suddenly, in the far distance, the way seemed to grow a little lighter and the trees sparser.  
But, just as her spirits lifted, the ground did the opposite, seeming to give way under her feet. With a shriek, she started to fall into some kind of pit, which had been concealed beneath sticks and leaves. Her fingers clawed desperately as she went down, reaching for something, anything which would halt her descent.  
It was a branch which saved her.  
It had become lodged against a rock and another large branch, leaving one end dangling over the edge. When she grabbed at it, the rough bark dug into her palms, and her wrists were jarred violently, as the rest of her body stopped falling. She hung there, swinging gently. 'Fantastic, just fantastic. I've been running all bloody night, I have blisters in places I don't even want to think about, and now I've fallen into the most stereotypical, cliché of a trap to ever exist.'  
She chanced a look down, which did not ease her discomfort surrounding the situation. The bottom of the pit was lined with big, sharp, wooden states. And, it looked like she was not the first unfortunate soul to fall in.

Cassandra forced herself to tear her eyes away from the carnage below. The top of the pit was not that far away, but to reach it, she would have to pull her entire body up using only the rather flimsy branch she was currently clutching onto for dear life.  
Cassandra took a couple of deep breaths then forced herself to take one hand off the branch and place it above the other. Slowly, she began to haul herself upwards. It was hard, the branch was on an awkward angle, and it was particularly rough. One hand at a time, she came closer to freedom. Something gave, and the branch slid forward. Cassandra gasped as she descended inexorably closer to a particularly spikey death. With a jerk, she came to a halt, the branch apparently becoming lodged again. She closed her eyes, then grasping tighter, launched herself upwards, hand over hand. She felt it shake and slip again, and with one last desperate effort, she made it high enough to grasp the edge of the pit and haul herself out. The branch finally gave up completely and slipped into the pit with a crash.

Cassandra lay beside the pit, chest heaving and eyes closed, shaking slightly with exhaustion. Something slammed into the ground not far away from her cheek. Her eyes snapped open, and she started in horror at a crude arrow, imbedded not two inches away from her head.  
She could actually see them now, animal skins, war paint and everything - hovering just above the ground, with twisted expressions of delighted malice on their faces.  
Cassandra scrambled to her feet and adrenaline kicked in. She bolted for the edge of the forest as if she was trying to shatter an Olympic record.

By this time, Hook and his men had covered a good portion of ground between their landing place and the mountains. They were currently making their way through a piece of forest which lined the next lagoon. It was much pleasanter than the one Cassandra was currently trying to escape, but it still held an air of danger.  
Hook heard a sound in the distance. It was indistinguishable at present, but definitely something out of the usual. He held up his good hand, wordlessly commanding his men to halt their movements. Listening intently, he reached for a pistol and cocked it, ready to fire.  
Moments later, something, consisting mostly of a glimpse of red and brown, accompanied by a shriek of 'run for your freaking lives,' flashed past.  
Before Hook had time to react, a projectile of some kind hissed past his ear. 'Make for the beach,' he roared at his men.

They ran, dodging further missiles, a few tripping and falling along the way. Minutes later, they broke out of the trees, just in time to see a still yelling Cassandra leap into the deep blue waters of the lagoon, disappearing from sight under the waves.  
Hook snarled, and turning, he fired his pistol back into the trees. His men followed suit, there was a scream, a thud and then silence. He grimly stuck the pistol back into his belt and began to walk back down the beach.  
Smee hurried to catch up to him. 'Captain. W-what about the girl?'  
Hook strode on. 'The wench is dead. Devoured,' he tossed back. 'In case you had not noticed, which, considering the sheer incompetence of all who surround me is hardly surprising, she just tossed herself into the flaming mermaid lagoon. Those ravenous she-fish are likely stripping the flesh from her bones as we speak. I will waste no more of my time on a fruitless endeavour.'  
Smee gulped. 'Poor girl,' he said as he stared at the silent water.

/

It was with an undeniable sense of relief that Cassandra had felt the cold water envelop her. It was a little cumbersome trying to swim fully clothed, in boots, and with a satchel dragging across her shoulder, but she managed it. Using her arms, she swam deeper, away from the shore. The ocean had seemed like the only logical decision. If her only choices were: going for a dip, facing the boys, or falling into the clutches of the pirates, well then, a fully-attired swim was the clear winner.  
Frankly, she did not think that the pirates were actually planning to kill her, as such. But, the Captain's face had been thunderstruck when she had made her rather awesome escape. And, the way he had been staring at her when they were having tea in his cabin had been more than a little creepy… and decidedly predatory in nature.

Cassandra could hold her breath for nearly three minutes, but after only about two and a half, she propelled herself to the surface and looked around. Satisfied she was far enough from the beach to be out of the sight of any watchers, she began to swim towards a more secluded patch of rocks a little around the cove. She was nearly there when she felt something brush against her leg under the water. Seconds later, something closed around her ankle and she was yanked below the surface. 

_**A/N: I**_ **should be writing a criminology paper, but I wrote this instead. If you have any thoughts or advice on how I could improve the story, leave a review.**


	8. Chapter 8 - Here be Monsters

As the water closed around her Cassandra fought the urge to scream, knowing that if she did, her lungs would fill with water, and that she would be as dead as… well… a very dead thing. She struggled, hoping that her leg might have become tangled in a kelp forest or something equally innocuous. But, despite kicking with all her might, the pressure on her leg only increased as she descended further away from the light of day. Okay, so definitely not a kelp forest.

Cassandra willed herself to retain some semblance of calm and then very slowly stared down into the murky depths. Wrapped around her ankle were the long, pale fingers of a very humanlike hand. She wriggled harder, but the grip tightened, so she suddenly let her body go limp instead. The pressure on her leg was released, and she began to float towards the surface. As her head broke out of the water, she took an enormous gulp of air, ducked under again and swam for her life.

To her left, a dark shape glided past, then another. Something brushed against her leg, and then her back. As she tried to reach the shore, they flicked back and forth in front of her, cutting her off. It was at that moment that she got a better look at the shapes in the water.  
She was being stalked by mermaids.

As she rose for another breath, with a flick of its tail one propelled itself towards her at incredible speed. It latched onto her leg and jerked her down. Her lungs screamed out for air, and she could feel her vision turning black. It released her. Lungs burning, she clawed to the surface, spluttering and gasping, barely enough time to snatch a breath before she was yanked under again.

Suddenly, the fear was gone, replaced by anger. They were playing her. They wouldn't even do the decent thing and drown her quickly. They wanted her to suffer, terrified and hunted before they eventually finished her off.  
With grim determination, she reached down and slipped out the knife concealed in her boot. When the next one glided up to her, she slashed the knife across its tail, releasing a cloud of blood into the water. She drew her leg back and kicked it squarely in the sternum. It hissed in pain and spun around in the water, slamming its tail into her chest. The impact smashed the air out of her lungs, but at the same time it also propelled her towards the shore.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the seabed rose up in front of her. She could almost touch the bottom.  
She felt something slide across her ribs, and then a strange sensation, it wasn't pain… more of a numbness, so she ignored it. Her feet hit the bottom, the water was barely up to her waist. She was going to make it!

Cassandra's legs were abruptly dragged out from under her and she went down, swallowing a mouthful of water. One of them was trying to drag her back out to sea, and certain death. Well, two could play at that game. She lunged out and grabbed the first thing she could, a fistful of hair. She pulled, hard. The creature shrieked out in pain and latched onto her thigh, digging its incredibly long fingernails deep into her flesh. Cassandra gritted her teeth and brought the other knee up to clip the mermaid under its chin. Apparently dazed, it released her leg.

Cassandra twisted her fist deeper into the mermaid's hair and dragged it with her through the increasingly shallow water, up onto the beach, where she promptly collapsed, still clutching its hair with a death grip. The mermaid shrieked and flopped around, flailing widely, and scratching at her. Cassandra yanked its head back with a snap and jammed the blade of the knife against the tender skin of its throat.  
It froze.

'Still having fun?' Cassandra growled. 'How does it fell to be on the other side? Out of your element. With something stronger than you threatening your survival!' The mermaid stared up at her, eyes filled with terror. It gave one last half-hearted flick of its tail before turning limp, apparently resigning itself towards its fate.

The sound of a splash dragged her attention towards the water. A half dozen heads bobbed up and down on the surface, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the knife.  
Cassandra sighed, 'I would be totally and completely justified in gutting you… well like a fish, but you know what. I'm going to take the high road on this one.'  
She pulled the knife away and shoved the mermaid as hard as she could towards the water. It wriggled the rest of the way down the beach and slithered into the water. Cassandra tipped backwards onto the sand and lay there, eyes closed, until a voice broke the silence.

'We are sorry,' it said, 'but we only wanted to drown you.'  
'And eat you,' said another voice.  
Cassandra sat up, wincing as a shaft of white hot pain flared up along her ribs.  
'Well… you can't,' was all she could think to say.  
One of the mermaids swam closer, until its torso was leaning on the sand.  
Cassandra scrambled backwards with the knife clutched tightly in her fist.  
The mermaid rolled its eyes. 'We're not going to eat you anymore, silly,' it said, flicking a blonde curl of its cheek.'  
'Or drown you,' added another.  
'What magnanimity,' Cassandra said sarcastically, 'you'll forgive me for retaining a healthy amount of scepticism – but you did just try to kill me. Like a bunch of times.'

The mermaid shook its head. 'You could have killed Loreline, but instead you showed mercy and spared her life. That places us in your debt now.'  
'Wow,' said Cassandra, 'polite psychopaths. How nice.'  
The mermaid ran one long fingernail across the length of its palm, slitting the skin. A trickle of blood welled up and began to drip onto the sand. She removed a shell from around her neck and clutched it in her bloody palm. She began to chant, softly at first, growing louder as the others lent their voices to the strange melody, reaching a crescendo then falling silent again.

The first mermaid leaned forward and tossed the shell towards Cassandra. It landed at her feet.  
'Take this as a surety of my word. We have sworn a blood oath that you shall not be harmed. If any of our kind stretches out a hand towards you in malice, this curse will fall upon them and cause the blood to boil in their veins.'

A little dazed, Cassandra leaned over and picked it gingerly up with a thumb and forefinger. It had a hole in the middle, through which was threaded some kind of leather string. Strangely, there was no trace of blood on it.  
They stared at her expectantly, so she gave up and hung it around her neck.  
'Well ladies,' she said as she struggled to her feet, 'it's been fun. But, I have places to be, people to see, flying boys to strangle, so you must excuse me. We'll do this again sometime.'  
With a small bow, she turned and limped away towards the trees.

The pain in her side was steadily increasing. She brushed the area with her fingers, yelping as the soft touch caused another jolt of pain to shoot up her ribs. When she pulled her fingers away, they were wet and sticky. She looked down to see a pair of large gashes which ran from just under her breast all the way to her stomach. They weren't incredibly deep, but they were wide, bleeding profusely and stung like mad. 'Awww man,' she moaned, 'I really liked that jacket.'  
She rinsed her open wounds out with medical disinfectant and bandaged them with supplies from her satchel. It wasn't exactly the best job, but it would have to do for now, and at least she wouldn't catch some virulent tropical infection that made her brain leak out of her nose.

There was not a soul in sight along the whole stretch of beach. Obviously, both the pirates and the little flying freaks had seen the spot on the map marked 'here be monsters' and had assumed she was probably occupying pride of place in an all-you-can-eat mermaid buffet, and had thusly taken themselves off in search of other pursuits. However, not all traces of humanity had disappeared. In the distance, she could just make out the Jolly Roger, bobbing gently up and down on the waves.

Cassandra gave a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes heavenwards. She really did not want to. Words could not express how much she loathed the idea. But, that was the thing, she didn't have any others. Currently her one and only viable option was to ask that insufferable man for help. He would gloat, she just knew it. But, even in peak physical condition, she still would not have been able to bring in someone like _him._ She doubted that even the special operatives would try it alone. In this case, it wasn't better the devil you knew, it was better the devil who was less likely to rip out your spleen and wear it as a hat.

As she pulled the extra raft canister out of her bag and prepared to deploy it, she glanced down at the shell hanging about her neck. It now seemed to be glowing softly with some kind of unearthly light. 'Seriously,' she muttered to herself, 'could this place get any more fictional. I mean, flamboyant pirates, flying children of death, and now glowing mermaid curses. You couldn't write this stuff, it would be too ridiculous. I take anything I said about wanting excitement back. Give me a nice boring trip to industrial age England any day!'

By the time she had managed to row most of the way out to the ship, it was well into the night, and Cassandra was shaking so hard from the shock and cold that her teeth were actually chattering. Some helpful soul had left a rope ladder draped over the side of the ship, so she was able to climb on board with relatively little discomfort, considering the circumstances.

The deck was mostly deserted, with only a solitary sleeping pirate, propped against a barrel snoring, to be seen. Still shivering, she crept across the deck towards the Captain's cabin and quietly tried the door. It proved to be unlocked, so she pushed it gently open and slipped through. Inside, a single lantern illuminated the room, revealing, just as she had hoped, that its occupant was asleep.  
He was sprawled face down and fully clothed across the bed, a half-full bottle of rum clutched in his good hand.

Across the large cabin was another door. Further inspection revealed that behind it was one of the largest walk-in closets Cassandra had ever laid eyes on. She let out a quiet whistle – the man certainly was fond of his clothes.  
Resisting the urge to have a rummage, Cassandra grabbed the warmest looking coat she could see and slipped it on, buttoning it all the way up to the chin.

Hook was dreaming.  
He awoke to see the girl – Cassandra standing by the window, staring out to sea. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, she turned to him, a soft smile on her face.  
'You were dead,' he said, prowling over to her.  
'The thought of you kept me alive. How could death claim me, I already belong to you,' she breathed.  
He leaned forwards until their faces were inches apart.  
'I thought my unsavoury advances repulsed, nay disgusted you?  
'I spoke those words deceitfully,' she whispered, placing one delicate hand on his chest, 'there is nothing I desire more in this world than to feel your tender and powerful embrace. You're ever so tall and handsome. My weak womanly self simply cannot resist your manly charms. Take me, take me now!'  
Hook swept her into a tight embrace and kissed her passionately. Her arms tightened about his neck as she wholeheartedly returned his affections.  
Suddenly, his lips grew strangely chill. He pulled away and looked down at her upturned face. Seaweed clung to her bedraggled hair, dripping brackish, salty water, which trickled down to soak his shirt and her skin was shot with blue and clammy to the touch. But worst of all, in place of her eyes, two empty, blackened sockets gaped up at him.  
She smiled at him with her dead lips, teeth blindingly pale in bloated, blackened gums. The smile widened, the skin on either side of her mouth splitting and sliding off, leaving only the white-bleached bone beneath.

With a shudder she collapsed into a pile of bones, leaving Hook staring at a grinning skull.  
Numb with shock, he took a step back, bone cracking beneath his boot.  
The pile began to shake and rattle. The bones rose up, melting into the head of the one thing Hook truly feared – the crocodile. Its eyes were black and lifeless, its gaping maw foul with the scent of decay. It lunged at him, erupting from the ground, jaws wide as they latched onto his good hand, bones crunching and splintering as he cried out in agony.

Hook's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt-upright in bed, shuddering.  
Then he saw her, not by the window this time, but slouched in the chair, boots propped up on the desk. She was ghostly pale, save for a large smear of blood adorning her cheek.  
She glanced at his horrified face and grinned, 'hey sailor.'

Hook's eyes bulged and he uttered the highest pitched sound she had ever heard male vocal chords produce.  
It was official – almost being devoured by mermaids was so totally worth it.

 _ **A/N:**_ **I borrowed the 'hey sailor' line from the fabulous Black Widow (Captain America: The Winter soldier).**

 **I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank all the lovely people who have read, reviewed and favorited my story so far. You guys are awesome**


	9. Chapter 9 - The Word of a Gentleman

Although internally Hook may well have been suffering from the burning pangs of embarrassment, outwardly he snapped back into his usual composure with admirable swiftness. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs stretched out in front of him, and arms crossed, watching her.

Cassandra attempted to shift her legs off the desk so she didn't have to crane her neck to face him. While she had remained stationary, everything had seemed fine, albeit a little stiff. However, as she moved to sit upright, pain shot up her back and the dull ache which had been throbbing away in her leg flared up. When she gave up and used her hands to drag the stubborn limbs to a more vertical position, she actually heard something crack. Oh boy, this was worse than she thought, there was barely a square inch of her body which wasn't in pain. She felt like she'd been through a heavy spin cycle in a drier filled with nails.

The captain was still watching her, an insufferably smug expression written all over his face.  
'Well Miss Haversham,' he said smoothly, 'what an immeasurably pleasant surprise to discover you still inhabiting the land of the living. Many a soul has gone screaming to their end at the hands of the ravenous she-beasts: bones stripped of flesh and cracked for their marrow. My congratulations on your escape. Although,' he made a show of examining her from head to foot, as she perched stiffly on the edge of the chair, 'you have not exactly escaped unscathed. Have you my dear?'  
Hook strolled over to the window and surveyed the sunrise. 'It pains me greatly to say this, but all this dreadful unpleasantness could have been avoided if you had not so firmly declined to accept my generous and well-meaning offer of shelter and congenial company.'

Normally, Cassandra would have shot out a biting retort to this. However, her initial glee at witnessing the devilishly urbane captain fall to pieces on terror was gradually beginning to wane. She was exhausted, sore, and more than a little on edge. She could sense, although he appeared unaffected, the captain was more than a little irritated by his earlier reaction. It would be easy to push him back over the edge, but she had come to the sudden realisation that, at this junction if he actually decided to do something unpleasant to her, there was little she could do in her current condition to prevent it. Discretion was indeed the greater part of valour, and mocking him would not be the wisest of recourses.

"I'm afraid it's one of the hazards of the job,' she said lightly, 'I've recovered from more than my fair share of bumps, bruises and assorted lacerations over the years. At least I'll get an injury compensation bonus and an extra week of leave for my troubles. And as for not being eaten alive, I guess I'm just lucky.' She shifted in the chair, 'Ouch! Well maybe not that lucky, it hurts like the dickens!'

Hook turned to face her, arms still crossed, leaning against the windowsill. 'I was under the impression you found my person abhorrent and my manners disgusting. So much so that you threw yourself into mermaid lagoon rather than suffer my company. This raises the exceedingly fascinating question of why you would break into my cabin in the dead of night. Having a change of heart are we love? I cannot say I blame you, the island has broken many a steadfast man, and you are only a poor helpless female.'

Cassandra glared at him and was about to articulate exactly where he could stuff his antiquated opinions of women. His expression gave her pause however. His eyes were narrowed as he looked intently at her, apparently only just coming to the realisation of what exactly she was wearing. His eyes widened and he took an angry step forwards.

'What in the burning blazes have you done to my coat woman?' he growled.  
Cassandra looked down and then back up. 'Nothing. It's just a tiny bit crumpled,' she said defensively. She took another glance, 'and maybe a little damp. I was still a bit wet when I put it on.'  
'But why did you put it on in the first place!'  
'Oh I don't know. Maybe it was something to do with the fact that I was freezing and didn't particularly relish the idea of dying of hypothermia. Anyway, I've seen the inside of your closet and you have more clothes than it would take to outfit an entire village, so I can't see why you would begrudge me the use of one coat. As I said, it haven't really damaged it.'

'Then what,' he said pointing at her side, 'is that.'  
Cassandra frowned and stood up shakily. 'It's just a damp patch,' she said reaching down to feel it. As her fingers came into contact with the material she realised the damp patch wasn't damp, it was hard. 'Oh dear, that isn't good.'  
She unbuttoned the coat and tried to shrug it off, but it was affixed to her side. She gave it a gentle tug, and then another, slightly harder one. As the coat came away, she quickly realised that was a huge mistake. During the night the bandage over her ribs had slipped and the still oozing blood had fused the material of the coat, not only to the skin surrounding it, but to the wound itself. When the fabric separated from her body, it ripped the scabs right off with it.

Cassandra wasn't particularly squeamish when it came to blood, even her own, but a combination of fatigue, pain and shock made her feel dizzy. She took one dismayed look at the rabidly spreading red stain and gagged. She grabbed at the nearest available receptacle and to Hook's unmeasurable horror, proceeded to cast up her accounts. When she finally stopped heaving, she looked up to see the captain regarding her with a mixture of revulsion and concern.  
'Do you want your coat back now? She asked, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand and collapsing back into the chair, the other hand clamped firmly over as much of the wound as it would cover.

'The only use I have for that garment now, is as fuel for the fire,' he said, most of the anger gone from his voice.  
The wench really was in bad shape. All the colour had drained out of her skin, except for the sizeable bruise which was blossoming black and purple across her cheek and the myriad of scrapes scattered across the rest of her exposed flesh. Her blouse was covered in blood, crimson stains covering older rusty brown ones.  
'You really should do something about that wound. I would be most perturbed if you bled everywhere. I know from previous experience that it's devilishly difficult to get out of the floor-boards.' He walked over to the nightstand and tossed her the towel which had been laid out with his shaving equipment.

She caught it with one hand and pressed it to her side, wincing.  
'So Miss Haversham, before you faint, I suggest we discuss the nature of your presence here?'  
Cassandra snorted, 'I've never fainted in my life, so I'm afraid you're straight out of luck if you were planning on using my misfortune to take advantage of me.'  
Hook sighed and shook his head, 'I shudder to injure your delicate feminine pride, but at present you are not exactly in your best looks. I am not particularly attracted to corpses, which, incidentally is what you bear an uncanny resemblance to in this state. You have my word as a gentlemen that I will not lay so much as a finger upon your person while you are thus indisposed. Well, at least until you do not so much appear like the undead,' he added as an afterthought.

Cassandra looked sceptical, but visibly relaxed.  
'Am I correct in assuming that Peter Pan is your greatest enemy, the bane of your existence etc. etc.?' she asked.  
'I believe I have made that quite clear.'  
'Well,' she said with a glint in her eye, 'what if I told you I could help you rid yourself of his meddlesome presence. Indefinitely.'  
'You have peaked my interest? But how do you plan to accomplish such a feat. While he is just a boy, he is also possessed of incredible sly deviousness and has managed to evade all attempts to ensnare him thus far.'

'Let's just say I have a cunning plan. Well part of one anyway, but I can't pull it off alone. And, as for him being just a boy, you have no idea exactly how dangerous he is, or how long we've been looking for him. Whatever you think you know about the thing you call Peter Pan is wrong. I shouldn't even be here, this is all far, far above my level. Anyway, I'm rambling. All I need is your assurance that you are willing to call a truce and cooperate in pursuit of the greater good.'

'There is nothing I would not give to have my revenge for this,' he said, rapping his hook against the dresser, 'but I will not provide you with my assent until I have heard the details of your plan. For all I know you might be plotting to orchestrate my downfall. And, if he is not what he seems then what is he?'

'I am not imparting any details until I've had a hot bath, some sleep and a meal. I'm afraid I need something more convincing than your 'word as a gentleman,' to ensure that I will come to no harm while my guard is relaxed. Now I know you know that if you try anything you'll always wonder how I could have helped you.'  
Hook placed his hand over his chest, 'it grievously wounds my heart that you would impugn my honour thusly. But nevertheless, due to the likelihood that the pain of your injuries has addled your brain I will not take offence. I will have Smee draw a bath for you. You may make use of my cabin. When you have rested, we will discuss this matter further.'

Cassandra nodded, 'that sounds fine. But,' she added as he started to leave the room, 'I want the bath and a bed set up in the closet, I still don't trust you. Not even a little bit.'  
'Wounded, wounded to my very heart,' he said, flashing her the kind of smile which only reinforced her belief that keeping him firmly at arms lengthy was very, very wise.

When the bath was filled and steaming, and a kind of camp bed had been shoved into the corner of the enormous closet, Cassandra firmly shut the door. For good measure, she pulled out a door stop and hammered it into the gap between the door and the floorboards with the heel of her boot. Satisfied that the room was secured, she gingerly peeled off her clothes.

When she caught a glimpse of her image in the full-length mirror attached to the wall, she whistled loudly. Frankly, it was little wonder he had been so affected by the sight of her. It wasn't like in the movies where the titular heroine valiantly fights invading hordes, falls into a ravine and is tortured for hours but still manages to emerge without a hair out of place, and at most an artistically placed scratch or two. She had assumed that Hook was just being flippant, but no, she did actually look like a dead person. Her hair was sticking up in clumps and was so stiff with salt that it actually crunched when she touched it. A plum dark bruise blossomed across her cheek, bisected by an angry looking scratch. Similarly colourful bruises dotted the rest of her body, the biggest one, surrounding the slashes on her ribs was almost as big as a serving platter. The two worst injuries were definitely the slashes and the nail scores on her leg. At least she mused, she'd have some pretty impressive scars to show off to the girls. Charlotte Bronson's tiny-ass stab scar was getting blown out of the water by these ones.

At first, the water stung her cuts, but after a while the pain disappeared, and she relaxed as the hot water soothed her aching muscles. She must have dozed off, because when she opened her eyes again, the water was cold.

She dragged herself out, rubbed her hair and body dry and bandaged her wounds. Still wrapped in the towel, she searched through her satchel for a clean set of clothes. She found a new skirt and leggings and underwear, but no clean blouse. She shrugged and rummaged around in one of the drawers until she found a shirt with slightly fewer frills than the rest. She didn't care if he freaked out because she'd stolen his clothes again, she needed it more than he did.

As she crawled into bed and drifted off to sleep, her last conscious thought was the hope that she would awake to find herself in her own bed, the past few days nothing more than a vivid dream.

 _ **A/N:**_ **This chapter is a bit shorter because I need to properly figure out what is going to happen next, before I can move on with the story. Also I've had exams and other unpleasant stuff like that going on… blahhh. Don't hesitate to let me know if you have any critiques or suggestions regarding this or previous chapters**

 **Also, this is a repost of this chapter because I read it through myself and realised there was a whole sentence missing which meant that part of it made absolutely no sense.**


	10. Chapter 10 - Cunning Plan

Cassandra was awoken from a blissful slumber by the impatient rumbling of her own stomach. She sat up groggily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. For a moment she was confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. Where did all the clothes spring from, and why did the ground seem to be swaying ever so gently?

Her drowsy brain finally kicked into gear and reminded her where she was. Neverland: Jolly Roger: Captain Hook's closet. Cassandra grunted and flopped back down onto the covers, pulling the pillow over her head. Maybe if she just lay here with her eyes closed, she wouldn't have to face any of her problems. Eventually the hunger pangs became too insistent to ignore and she dragged herself grudgingly out of bed. She tried to look on the bright side, at least, she was still mostly alive and had slept in a real bed.

Her muscles were still rather stiff, but at least the pain of the day before had died down to more of a manageable dull ache. She carefully changed her bandages, this time paying more attention to peeling them off without disturbing the scabs. She had no wish to repeat the debacle of the day before. Throwing up was never fun. Doing it in front of someone else was even worse. It was with immense relief that she found the skin closing over rather nicely, with no obvious signs of infection. There were more than a few agents walking around with prosthetic limbs because they had not disinfected a cut. She dabbed on some more cream just in case.

Inspection in the mirror revealed that the bruise on her cheek was darkened to a very interesting shade of purple, somewhere in between aubergine and plum, with a slightly lighter, slightly greenish patch in the middle. She poked it to see if it still hurt. Unsurprisingly it did. She found her brush and tackled the rather matted clump which was her hair. A good fifteen minutes of pulling, separating and getting the hairbrush stuck, it was relatively tangle free. She braided it and pinned it up into a bun so it was out of the way.

She sat back down on the bed and pulled on her boots, lacing them a little looser than usual to accommodate the lacerations on her calf. She rifled through the supply of clothes she had brought with her. The jacket was slashed and stained with blood, as was the shirt she had been wearing under it. There was another set of clothes, but being the ones she had arrived in were soiled with both salt water and the accumulated grime of several days of sleeping in trees, climbing mountains and tramping through the forest. The jacket, if she mended it would be alright for the time-being, but everything needed a good wash. She walked over to the still full bath. The water didn't look tooo, bad, so she dunked her clothes in, gave them a good rub with the soap and left them to soak.  
Part of her wished that she had brought more clothes, but while her bag was quite a bit bigger than it appeared on the outside, it wasn't that big and she had to pack conservatively, there was more important equipment to accommodate.

Having procrastinated as much as possible, she pried the doorstop out and swung the door open.  
The cabin was empty. Based on the light spilling in through the window she judged it to be around midday. She must have been asleep for quite a while. Her stomach rumbled again, louder than before. No wonder she was ravenous, it had probably been over a day since she had consumed a decent meal.

The other door was pushed open, and Captain Hook entered, clad in full pirate regalia, including an enormous hat with a feather on the brim.  
'Ahh, Miss Haversham. You have deigned to once again grace us with your presence,' he drawled, sweeping off his hat and giving her a low bow.'  
'Are you always this dramatic, or are you just showing off for my benefit,' Cassandra said.  
'My dear girl, have you any idea how long you have been wrapped in the arms of Morpheus?'  
'If you mean asleep, then I would guess around eleven or twelve hours?'  
The captain chuckled, 'you have not emerged from my closet for a full two days. Happily I had the foresight to remove some clothes before you settled. I knocked on the door to enquire of your health, but you only muttered something about Vikings and not wanting to weed the potato patch again before falling silent.'

'No wonder I am literally starving right now,' Cassandra said, rubbing her stomach. 'You don't happen to have an entire roast cow and a gallon of tea lying about do you?'  
'I am afraid not, however I will summon some refreshments. It would be unfortunate if you were to expire from lack of sustenance before you have imparted your self-styled 'cunning plan'.  
He gave her another mocking bow and left.

Cassandra sat down at the table and considered the man who had just departed. It surprised her to discover that when he wasn't laying on the intimidation or trying to seduce you, he actually wasn't unpleasant to converse with. He was obviously well-educated and capable of carrying an intelligent conversation. He wasn't exactly hard on the eyes either which didn't hurt. Cassandra had absolutely no intention of falling for his dubious charm, but she wasn't totally adverse to the view.  
Despite this, she wasn't about to drop her guard entirely. There was undoubtedly something dangerous about him. She had already witnessed his unpredictable temper. Even just now, when he had seemed perfectly cordial, she could still sense something dark running just beneath the surface.  
The man was like a snake, and give him half a chance, she wouldn't be surprised to find herself pinned up against the wall, or with a hook in her guts.

Hook returned, putting a halt to her considerations.  
He pulled out a chair and sat down opposite.  
'The food will arrive presently milady. In the meantime, I suggest we discuss the future. Before you begin however I should warn you that if you are planning some kind of ruse, or prove un-useful to me, well…,' he smiled at her, showing his teeth, 'I will leave the rest to your imagination.'  
Annnd, the other side was back again with a vengeance.  
'Look,' Cassandra said, 'we've established that neither of us trust each other. However, we both want the same thing.'  
The captain stroked his chin with the curve of his hook, and a wicked smile curved around the corners of his mouth.  
'Well,' amended Cassandra hurriedly, 'we want mostly the same thing.'  
'You underestimate me love, but that is a discussion for a more opportune moment.'  
Cassandra crossed her arms and glared at him, 'are you going to zip it and hear me out or not. I'm perfectly content to leave right now and go live with the people you so inaccurately refer to as ' _the Indians. ._ At least they seemed to possess some actual manners.'

'My deepest apologies madam,' Hook said with mock sincerity, 'please continue your fascinating observation.'  
'As I said, we both want to deal with the problem that is Peter Pan. You want to be rid of him. I want to clap the cuffs on him and drag his butt back to justice.'  
'My reasons for wishing him ill are obvious, but yours are as yet unfathomable. Why exactly do you wish to capture him? What mischief has he wrought in your past?' Hook enquired.

'It's a long story, but, it's not as personal as your motivations. I mentioned how I work for an agency whose primary interests relate to time travel (for legal reasons I am not permitted to go into more detail). Well, as an agent, I have a pretty broad set of duties, one of them being fugitive retrieval. If someone seriously breaks the rules, or tries to make off with company tech then one of us gets sent out to bring them back. You have no idea how many disgruntled former employees try to keep their time travel devices. Anyway, we have a wanted list, most people on it haven't done anything really, really bad, but there are a couple of major exceptions. The primary example being Patrick Dean Walters. Walters used to be the poster boy. Everyone loved him. He was exceptional at his job and was even being groomed to take over the whole show one day. Civilisations all over the world had legends about him – I assume you've heard of King Arthur for example. I didn't really know him well or anything, but he did take some of my training sessions. When I was especially green I actually managed to give him a scar. He was pretty cool about it, I think he rather liked it. Made him look more rugged or something. Then, stuff started to go wrong. Sometimes, if someone's not all quite there, time travel can drive you mega-insane. It happens slowly until you eventually snap. Well, he snapped bad! He went super-villain and killed seventy-three agents before disappearing into time.'

Cassandra paused to make sure he was keeping up with the story, before continuing. 'I saw the bodies, and it was… messy. He hadn't just killed them. Some of them were in pieces,' she shuddered, 'they never did find some of the bits. Ever since then he's been Mr Number One Fugitive, there hasn't been so much as a trace of him for over a hundred years. And this explains why. Goodness knows how long he's been here, and as for how he resembles a child now – I can't even begin to explain that one. It's a complete fluke that I'm even here, I'm way too junior to be sent out to something like this.'

At that moment, a clattering from outside of the door signalled the arrival of food, and they both remained silent until the table had been set and Smee had taken himself off again.  
'And that,' Cassandra finally said as she tucked into the food, 'is why I'm after him. To be honest you're actually quite lucky he didn't do anything worse than cut off your hand.'

'That was a most enlightening tale,' Hook said, 'I have only one question. Why is such a young thing as you undertaking such a perilous occupation? From the little I have observed you seem to be in a perpetual state of danger.'  
'I can take care of myself,' Cassandra retorted, downing an enormous cup of tea. 'As for being young, come to think of it, I'm probably quite a bit older than you are.'  
Hook raised his eyebrow in a blatant indication of his disbelief.  
'No really,' Cassandra said, 'I was born in 1627, you were born in what, the late 1800s. When you time travel, it's a little bit hard to accurately tally up how long you've been around, but according to my calculations, if you take the time linearly, I've been doing this for about three hundred years, give or take. That makes me, oh at least a hundred years older than you.'

'My aging process halted due to the strange influence of this island,' Hook said, 'but what pray tell has caused you to retain an appearance of youth?'

'Prolonged exposure to time travel. It was an unintentional but helpful side-effect. It means we can continue working almost indefinitely. Well, until we are driven insane, die horribly or get fired for gross misconduct. Time travel is addictive, that's why people try to steal it. They don't want to lose the whole immortality thing, not to mention being able to go wherever and whenever they want.'

Hooks eyes travelled down to focus on the device attached to her wrist, 'so this little bauble,' he said thoughtfully, 'allows one to move at will through time…'  
'Don't even think about it,' Cassandra warned, slapping her hand over the device 'you'll get your hands on this tech over my dead body. And as you have probably picked up on, it's incredibly hard to kill me. Besides, it's essentially useless at the moment. It's completely dead until I put the transport cuffs on the fugitive.'

'I would not dream of it,' purred Hook, a strange look in his eyes.  
'Anyway,' said Cassandra loudly. 'We've gone off on a tangent. Back to the plan.'  
Hook delicately dabbed his lips with a napkin, 'forgive me for my enquiring mind. I shall endeavour not to distract you further.'

True to his word, he remained silent as she outlined the details of her plan to capture Peter Pan.  
The general contents were as follow: capture a lost boy, feed him false information, and pretend to be about to torture the location of Pan from him, before finally leading him believe he has escaped through his own cunning.'

'And then,' finished Cassandra, 'he'll fly straight back to his comrades with a highly dramatized version of events, hopefully resulting in an angered Pan being drawn from his lair and out into the open where we can more easily capture him.'

Hook remained silent, considering her proposition. 'This plan is not without a great deal of risk attached to it,' he finally said.  
'But,' challenged Cassandra, 'have you got a better one. Haven't you been trying to snare the brat for several hundred years to no avail?'  
'What a perceptive insight. In all that time, do you really suppose we have not attempted to lure Pan out?  
'I'm sure you have, but there's one very important thing you didn't have on your side back then.'  
'Pray enlighten me.'  
'Me. I assume he currently thinks I'm dead. You clearly did. When he finds out I'm alive I doubt he will leave me to my own devices. He knows I know who he is. He also knows that I can't leave until I have captured him. Ergo, he's going to want to get rid of me, to remove even the slightest chance of me bringing him in. He torments you for his own amusement, preferring not to kill you outright. I on the other hand pose a real threat worthy of elimination. So, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, to sum up my closing argument. I'm the bait.'

Hook leaned back in his chair. 'I will admit you pose a fair point. You have given me much to consider, and consider it I must. I am dreadfully afraid that you will have to remain in suspense of my decision while I give the matter proper thought. In the meantime, I hope you will deign to continue to avail yourself of my hospitality.'

Cassandra crossed her arms, 'I suppose your terms are reasonable enough. I suggest you do your thinking swiftly though. If he figures out I'm alive before we have set things in motion, the outcome might not be pleasant.'  
'Unpleasant you Miss Haversham,' Hook said, with that dangerous smile of his, 'as you so eloquently phrased it. I am merely a mouse being toyed with by the cat, you would be the one to feel its teeth.'  
Cassandra stood up and dumped her napkin unceremoniously on the table. 'I'm going back to bed. Let me know when you've stopped being so insufferably arrogant. Goodnight.'

As she slammed the door, she could still hear his mocking laughter.  
She so took back any nice things she had thought about him earlier, the man was the devil incarnate.

Hook had every intention of assisting her to enact the plan, at least some of it… eventually. It was rather a good one, and worth at least a try. But in the meantime, he would enjoy playing with her. He found that infuriating her caused him great enjoyment. He had no doubt that in time, when he had worn down her defences that a completely different type of interaction would provide him with equal enjoyment, but for now he would settle for unsettling her. And at least, it had ensured him some peace and quite. Did the woman ever stop talking!

He went out on deck to strike some fear into the hearts of the sailors, little knowing that even as he was considering her, she was fantasising about him. Primarily in terms of how much she would like to pepper spray him, right in the eyes… and watch him writhing on the floor in agony.

 _ **A/N:**_ **I only gave a very brief description of Cassandra's plan in this chapter as I will be discussing the details of it quite a bit in subsequent chapters and don't want to repeat the same information multiple times if I can help it. Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, especially what you think of the interaction between Hook and Cassandra, does it make sense?**


	11. Chapter 11 - Altercations

After approximately three days cooped up in a windowless box of a room, Cassandra was beginning to suffocate. She had already read Wuthering Heights three times, inventoried every item in her satchel, repaired her torn jacked and scrubbed most of the bloodstains out of the borrowed coat. "  
She needed some air, or she would go stark, flaming mad. Since the culmination of the meal two days ago, she had barely set foot outside the room except to collect the tray which someone, she assumed Smee, had been leaving outside the door.

She was still rather angry at Hook, but her desire to go out on deck and breathe the fresh air trumped that anger right now. There was of course, a slight danger that a marauding lost boy might carry news of her continued existence back to Peter Pan, but at this point it was a risk she was willing to take.

She put one ear to the door and listened for a moment. There were no obvious sounds of movement from beyond it, she hoped he was out terrorising the crew or something.  
She pulled the doorstop out and opened the door.  
A shirtless Hook stood in the centre of the room, casually polishing his hook.  
He took one look at her frozen expression of horrified shock and roared with laughter.  
Cassandra clapped her hand over her eyes and retreated backwards with considerable speed. With a strangled choking sound, she half tripped, half stumbled over the threshold, slamming the door behind her.

From behind the firmly shut door came a muffled voice, 'I'm asking this nicely. Please for the love of humanity put some bloody clothes on!'  
'My dear, young, lady, I am afraid that this is my cabin, and thusly I may attire myself as I see fit. I suggest with the utmost respect that if you find some fault with this then you would be advised to remain where you are.'  
'Just put a freaking shirt on so I can go out on deck.'  
'I see nothing in the world preventing you, came the cool reply.  
'Oh yeah, nothing apart from the fact I DIDN'T want to see you half naked.'  
'Oh dear,' he purred, 'does it make you feel uncomfortable. Alas, I am quite contented at present and therefore have no intention of making alteration to my appearance for… oh I should say a considerable number of hours.'

There was silence and then a strange rustling sound from inside the closet.  
'What's this I hear,' Cassandra said in a conversational tone, 'could it be the sound of someone about to cut the sleeves off a coat with her pocketknife.'  
Hook froze, 'Miss Haversham you would not dare.'  
'What a lovely garment,' Cassandra continued in the same voice, 'royal blue velvet, real gold thread, hand crafted gold buttons. And what an exquisite cut. Too bad the next cut isn't going to add so much to the overall quality of appearance.' There was a small metallic sound, almost as if someone scrapped a blade against a button.

Inside the closet, Cassandra brought the knife closer and closer to the fabric. Hook cursed, and Cassandra heard footsteps and then silence.  
'I've put the confounded shirt on, harpy,' he said curtly. 'Your delicate maidenly sensibilities are safe.'  
Cassandra shoved all her possessions back into her satchel and swung it over her shoulder, she had a funny feeling that she wasn't going to be allowed to set foot in that closet ever again and she wasn't sure she wanted to.  
She swung the door open carefully and stepped out. Hook was propped up against the wall glowering at her, but thankfully fully clothed. She made a face at him and strode across the room, and out the door onto the deck as fast as humanly possible.

Talk about an awkward interaction. It wasn't that he was particularly repulsive looking, quite the opposite actually. It was more the fact that a) it had been a massive shock, b) she preferred not to see that much of anyone she was working with. Ever! Shudder!

She grimaced and walked over to the railing. It was a fine day, warm, with a crisp breeze. She stood and let the wind blow through her hair, taking in deep lung-fulls of fresh sea air.  
Confound Peter Pan and those accursed time travel regulations. And blast Captain James Hook and all his crew.

Cassandra took a long hard look into the future and imagined her life as it would be if she never left the island. She had no desire to spend the rest of eternity sparring with Hook, leaving relocation to the village her only option. It might not even be all that bad. At first.  
But then, decades, centuries, maybe even millennia of unending sameness, days melting indistinguishably into each other, punctuated only by sporadic altercations with the lost boys or the pirates. She would never see her apartment again, never eat the rest of the chicken pot pie from her freezer, and never make the trip to 2031 to watch Sherlock Season 4.

After a while her colleagues might start to wonder what had happened to her. But, there would always be that nagging doubt, had she really gone down in the line of duty, or had she gone rogue and was in the wind with stolen technology? And in ten years or fifty, or a hundred someone else might pick up on Pan/Walter's signal and end up trapped here as well.

Cassandra slammed her fist down on the railing. None of that was happening. Damn it, this was her job and she was good at it. It was exhilarating, dangerous and the best thing she had ever done, and she wasn't about to let a criminally insane fugitive masquerading as a storybook character take it all away from her. She might not be anyone's pick for agent of the year, but she always finished a mission, and she liked to think she did it with her own particular flair. It didn't matter what it took, he had the supreme arrogance to believe that no one would come for him, and if they did he could dispose of them as easily as swatting a fly. Well, he was going down even if she had to die trying. And what the heck, maybe it might just work.

Hook was still in his cabin, in one of his foul moods, and half way through the better part of a bottle of rum when Cassandra walked in, a look of grim determination in her eyes. She smacked a metallic bracelet-like piece down on the table in front of him.  
'This transportation cuff is my ticket out of here, and with or without your help I'm slapping it on that desperado and dragging him back to justice. So I will ask one last time, am I doing it alone, or are you going to step up and do something worthwhile for once?'

Hook took another long swig from his bottle. 'Worthwhile Haversham, what would you know of worthwhile,' he laughed mirthlessly, 'If I provide you with aid, risking my own life and the lives of my men, what benefits will I reap? Capturing Pan may provide you with a means of escape, but I will still be trapped. The boy is not the cause of my imprisonment, he has merely taken advantage of it. I think,' he said, 'it would provide me with far more enjoyment to know that your freedom is denied you, to watch the bitterness eat away at your soul until you become like me. Now if you will kindly take yourself off, I intend to drink away my sorrows' He raised the bottle to her in a mock salute and then raised it to his lips.

Disgusted, Cassandra leaned over and swiped it out of his hand. It shattered, the dark amber liquid soaking into the floorboards.  
'I think you have had quite enough to drink,' she snapped.  
Hook snarled and staggered to his feet, slashing at her. Cassandra pulled back, narrowly avoiding a slice to the solar plexus. He overreached a little, teetering slightly off balance, his inebriation only exacerbating matters. Cassandra took this opportunity to dart in and kick him hard in the shins. With a curse he stumbled back into the chair.  
Before he could reorientate himself enough to formulate another attack, she snatched a fountain pen off the table and stabbed the sharp end into his upper thigh.

His eyes bulged and his lips curled into a snarl of pain and pure incandescent rage, she could have sworn his eyes turned blood red for a moment.  
'Keep perfectly still,' she growled, still griping the pen, 'if I jerk this even the tiniest bit to the left it will sever your femoral artery and you'll lose consciousness in under thirty seconds. You'll bleed out in around a minute.'  
He froze, but if looks could indeed kill, she would have instantly been reduced to ashes and dust.  
'I didn't want to do this' she said, 'but you really didn't give me a choice. Now, while we're here, you are going to listen, in silence, until I have finished what I came here to say.'  
Hook grunted, but otherwise remained mute.

'I can't believe you. Captain James Hook – the legendary pirate, feared across the seas from England to Spain, reduced to a pathetic, self-pitying drunkard. Deep down I know you loathe Peter Pan with every fibre of your being. For goodness sakes, he chopped off your hand and fed it to a crocodile, which I might add has been hunting you relentlessly ever since. Have you so lost your way that trying to toy with me really means more to you than the chance for retribution?'  
He started to say something, but she cut him off, 'I'm NOT FINISHED! You may think that he's going to leave you out of it when I'm gone…I know him, it might take months it might take years, but he's playing a long game and eventually that game will be over and so will you. If I try this alone, then I'll most likely die, but before I do I'll make damn well sure he thinks the whole thing was your idea. And then,' she finished, 'I'll come back and haunt the crap out of you.'

Although the captain still looked furious, he had taken on a slightly more calculating air.  
'You are going to keep very, very still,' Cassandra said, 'and make absolutely no sudden movements, and I'm going to pull this thing out of your leg. I would appreciate it if you wouldn't immediately lash out at me, because I know plenty of other ways to hurt you if it comes down to it.'  
'Just remove it woman,' he ground out.  
In one swift movement, it was yanked out with a faint sucking noise, and she had swept up the transportation cuff and was across the room with the door half open before he had time to blink.

She stood there, one foot over the threshold, watching him warily, poised to bolt at the slightest provocation.  
Instead of pursuing her, as she had anticipated, in a murderous rage, he pulled out a pocket handkerchief with a flourish and used it to staunch the bleeding.  
'Bad form Miss Haversham, bad form,' he said, shaking his head. 'I consider it only sportsmanlike to do you the courtesy of informing you that you will pay for that. Dearly. However, in the meantime I find myself undergoing a slight change of heart. I am inclined to acquiesce your request for assistance in your endeavours and grant you a temporary truce. With Pan gone, the entire island will be at my disposal, and I find the idea of ruling over this little slice of hell to be not entirely unpleasant.'

Hook pressed the cloth harder against his thigh, grunting a little in pain, 'this injury to my person neither forgiven nor forgotten, when all is done there will be a reckoning between us.'  
'Oh, I'm counting on it,' Cassandra smiled wryly, 'and in the meantime I think it would be fortuitous for all concerned if I were to depart. I would dreadfully put out to wake up with my throat slit. I'll give you two days to set your part of the arrangement in motion and collect all the necessary supplies. On the third day, we will rendezvous on the beach, where we will both do our best not to incite the other to homicide.' She flicked him a small curtsey and turned to leave.

'Oh Miss Haversham,' he called after her.  
'What is it?' she asked wearily, lingering at the door.  
'My blood is on your hands.'  
'Oh don't be so melodramatic, you'll be completely fine!'  
'I mean it quite literally my dear.'  
Cassandra looked down at her palms which were indeed marred with smears of unusually dark blood. She gave a small exclamation of disgust and took herself off with no further reply.

Once she was a safe distance away from the ship, with no sign of pursuit, she secured the oars and leaned over the side. She rubbed her hands together vigorously, thoroughly scrubbing off all traces of blood. A small evil part of her had to admit, it had been more than a little satisfying to stab him, but she also had no doubt that she would be dealing with the fallout from this little incident before much time had passed. Ah well, she didn't plan on sticking around long enough to let him gut her, or worse.

With a sense of déjà vu, she dragged the boat up the beach. This time, she repacked the boat into its canister and tucked it away rather than concealing it. Cassandra trudged off down the beach in search of a suitable location to camp for the next few days. After half an hour of investigations, she happened upon a small cave with a reasonably soft, sandy floor. She rolled up her sleeves and set about making it fit for habitation. A few armfuls of branches provided a makeshift mattress, and the velvet coat she had stashed away in her bag, a perfectly adequate blanket. Just before night began to fall, she ventured into the fringes of the trees and gathered as many dry sticks as she could find.  
As night truly rolled in, she built up a fire in the mouth of the cave and settled down, the coat about her shoulders.

The next two days proved to be the most enjoyable time she had spent on the island thus far. She explored the beach, discovering a small brook of fresh water running down to the sea. She gathered coconuts and cooked fresh fish on a spit. She swam for hours, at first with apprehension, remembering the last time she had entered the water. But, the mermaid must have spoken truthfully, for, apart from an initial investigation, she was left undisturbed. The cool water soothed her now rather itchy scabs and washed away some of the worry and anger which had accumulated over the past few days. She started to feel like her old self again.

The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that if one let it, there was something about this place which brought out the worst in a person. It exacerbated small annoyances, blowing them out of proportion until they turned into full blown hatred. No wonder Hook had turned out the way he was after spending so long here, brooding and dying inside. There had been times aboard the ship, when she had caught a glimpse of the man he must have been before coming trapped here, moments when he was charming and delightful company. But then, just as quickly he would twist around and say something perfectly ghastly which would made her despise him all over again.

On the third day, she waited on the beach with roses back in her cheeks and a cautiously optimistic outlook. 'Catch the boy, lure in Pan and you're home free old girl,' she told herself, 'that chicken pie, a hot shower and the season of _Suits_ you recorded are calling your name, don't let them down.'

In the meantime Hook had been conducting his own preparations. He fully intended to cooperate with Cassandra… right up until the second it suited him not to. His leg still hurt, and he walked with a slight limp. A fact, his crew studiously avoided noticing at all costs, ever since the captain had shot the first unlucky sailor foolish enough to stare at his gait.

Occasionally, he caught a glimpse of the girl through his spyglass. At one point, he could have sworn she was doing cartwheels on the beach. Hook was unsure whether he held a small amount of grudging admiration for her spunk, or whether he desired to kill her at the first available opportunity. He liked his woman with a bit of fire, but he also liked them to respect him and above all else not stab him with his own fountain pen. Whatever came of the plan, he intended to make perfectly sure that she survived long enough for him to exact punishment for her defiance.

 _ **A/N:**_ **I didn't think I'd have another chapter out this quickly, but it turns out that I'm really good at using writing to put off doing other things (like housework, or my university assignments.)**

 **I was a kind of exhausted when I wrote this, so if you see any glaring inconsistencies or really anything that doesn't sound right, please leave a review or PM me and let me know. When I'm finished the whole thing I'll probably edit it as one long document to make sure it flows properly and stuff, but for now I shall just try to keep writing it.**

 **I would also like to dedicate this chapter to my fake sister Ella, who will probably asphyxiate when she reads the first part. Rest in Peace Ella.**

 **And as always, thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing, especially BookRain who has kindly taken the time to review multiple chapters.**


	12. Chapter 12 - In the Forests of the Night

Cassandra sat cross-legged under the shade of a palm-tree, idly drawing circular patterns in the warm sand with a stick. She had already been sitting here for several hours, waiting. Her joints were starting to cramp, and her side itched.

At least it wasn't as cold and downright terrifying as the Titanic incident – she'd certainly pulled the short straw on that assignment.

A distant splash carried over the water. She looked up, shading her eyes from the sun with one hand. It was barely midmorning but already the wind held the promise of a swelteringly hot day. Great, now her nose itched as well… and stung. Oh crap, of course she had forgotten to put on sunblock… of course she had.

In the far distance, a fleet of small boats were just visible, bobbing about on the waves as they made slow but sure progress towards the shore.

As they drew closer she spied Hook – for who else would be wearing such an outrageous jacket on such a balmy day. He was of course, in the lead boat and had assumed a dramatic pose. He stood, staring straight ahead, one boot on the rail, the other on the bottom of the boat and his good hand resting upon the hilt of his cutlass. It was a sight worthy of the artistry of Caspar David Friedrich and would probably have given many less cynical members of the female persuasion heart palpitations.

Cassandra hoped they came across a bumpy patch on the tide, she would love to see the expression on his unfairly photogenic face as he toppled over the side, hopefully to be devoured by mermaids or something equally voracious.

But alas, it was not to be, fate seemed to smile on the captain, for despite his ridiculously impractical pose, he reached the shore without incident. He alighted with a flourish, leaving behind footprints which slowly collapsed back into nothing.

There was some discussion among the men now milling about on the sand, but they were too far away for her to catch more than the odd word. Hook walked up and down, barking out orders, the men scrambling to obey – unloading an assortment of sacks, nets and other accoutrements – tucking some under arms and slinging others over shoulders.

The boats were hauled further up the beach, well past the high-tide line where they wouldn't be taken by the sea. A handful of men remained with them, having been relegated to mind the boats – a highly sort after position, considering the task ahead.

As they made their way towards her, Cassandra unfolded herself and stood up, dusting sand from her skirts. She remained where she was, under the tree, arms folded, waiting for them to reach her.

There were close to three dozen pirates – thin and wiry, hulking and grizzled, tattooed, scarred… one with hands so twisted they appeared to be on backwards… and to a man, all armed to the teeth. Only a skeleton crew must remain aboard the Jolly Roger, she fancied.

And of course, Hook himself, sporting an enormous hat trimmed with a blue feather. His coat was a rich, blue brocade, trimmed with jet lace and silver buckles – a brace of pistols were tucked into straps criss-crossing his chest and a cutlass rested easily at his side.

As he strolled up the beach, taking his time about it, making her wait – Cassandra couldn't help but feel a sliver of satisfaction as she noticed his stride was marred by a very slight limp. He was doing an admirable job of concealing it, but it was there and that was enough.

She didn't as a rule make a habit of stabbing people with their own pens, but there was something about the man which seemed to drive her to acts of violence.

As he approached, eyes piercing into her she stared back, taking care to let her gaze linger over the twinge in his stride.

'Miss Haversham,' he purred, 'I trust you remain in good health.' He flicked his eyes over her with a critical air, 'tsk, tsk… my dear young lady, you have allowed your complexion to be spoiled by a most appalling case of sunburn – I am dreadfully afraid that shade of red, does not become you.'

She smiled thinly, 'curse of the pale complexion you know, so sweet of you to notice… but then you were ever the gallant gentleman.' She scuffed her toe over the patterns in the san, obscuring them.

'Although it would be truly lovely to stand here and chat about how terrible I look and how pitiful your limp is, I fear we have much to accomplish in a relatively short time.' She turned her gaze towards the sky, 'and it would be best if we were done before we lose the light, this may take some time and the night is dark and full of terrors. Plus I don't want to sleep in a tree again, and certainly not anywhere near you.'

She half expected him to retaliate or say something mocking about little girls being afraid of the dark, but to her mild surprise, his eyes only narrowed and he nodded, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his cutlass.

'I assume you have come prepared,' she said a little sceptically, 'did you remember to bring everything I asked?' She hoped the man had been paying attention when she had been relaying the necessities of the plan. She had her doubts, but hope springs eternal.

He raised an eyebrow, twirling the end of his moustache between two fingers, 'your lack of faith pains me sweetheart. When I agreed to assist you I gave my word, and, Miss Haversham… I am a man of my word.'

As he said this a strange gleam flashed through his eyes. An involuntary shiver coursed down her spine as she remembered a similar look… his eyes clouding with ice as he promised to repay her for maiming him.

Cassandra didn't like the way Hook made her feel. He could be charming one moment, irritating the next and then in a heartbeat predatory and dangerous.

The mere fact he had managed to rile her up enough to stab him was worrying because it meant that he had in some small way gotten under her skin.

She wasn't squeamish when it came to violence, but she tried to be level-headed about it. It was one thing to assess a situation then calmly take action in the defence of one's own life, but it was an entirely different story to get mad and non-fatally stab a dangerous man… one she had to work with later.

And that wasn't even the point. Not that she'd ever been particularly good at following the rules, but it was in the missions statement: they were Time Agents – not the bloody Time Police. Time Agents weren't supposed to use force when other options were viable.

'Use your words,' her supervisor was always telling her, 'kill the wrong person and you screw up the timelines. Another agent will have to be assigned to scrub up your mistakes and you'll end up in head office explaining yourself.'

Cassandra only hoped his cooperation would last long enough for her to clap Walter in irons. After that, she had no compunction about striking first if it came to that, rules be damned.

Cassandra realised she had let her train of thought get away from her again, because they were all staring at her. She probably looked like she was possessed or something. Oh well, a little aura of mystery never hurt anyone.

'Excellent,' she said, grinning wolfishly as she shouldered her satchel, 'shall we press on then gentlemen.' Without bothering to wait for a response, she spun on her heel and began walking away in the direction of the tree-line. Towards the deep, dark forest through which, barely days before she had run for her life.

A steady crunch of leaves behind her indicated they were at least following her, but, she did not turn around. Here, in amongst the trees with the shadows dancing madly across the ground, there was a tangible drop in temperature. It felt as if all the warm air had been siphoned out of the atmosphere. Out on the beach the weather had been hot, almost tropical but under the dark leaves a chill hung in the air – cold and damp.

For a moment, a wave of doubt nearly swamped her. In her obvious haste to remove her person from the area, she had hardly been paying the closest attention to her surroundings. It was debatable whether she actually knew where she was going.

Out of the corner of her eye a flash of blue appeared and Hook materialised beside her, sweeping a low-hanging branch out of his path with a flick of his hook.

Weeell, then, that decided that. There wasn't even the slightest possibility she was going to admit to him she wasn't entirely sure where the heck she was going. His first reaction would probably be to laugh at her, his second… well… that wasn't something she particularly cared to find out.

So, they were just going to have to press on and hope for the best while she shamelessly pretended she had the whole situation under control.

They walked on in silence for what she estimated to be around half an hour. As they pressed further into the tangle of trees she began to recognise the odd familiar location… a particularly twisted tree… an unusually large rock.

Cassandra had already decided she whole-heartedly hated this place. It felt empty, dead – almost evil. She understood now, why so many horror stories and cautionary folktales were set in the woods. Out here you felt totally alone, never knew what might be watching you through the branches…

As she picked her way over the uneven ground, wincing slightly as her boots snapped the odd twig, she snuck a look at the man beside her. Although he was a good deal larger than her, he moved with almost unnatural stealth, generating barely a sound with his passing. It was wildly unfair, she was sweaty, sore and itchy and 90% sure her face was glowing like a beacon, whereas, he looked as cool and collected as ever, nary a hair out of place.

It was unsettling. He was unsettling – so tall but with all the predatory grace of a big cat.

The setting reminded her of a poem – long-since read and almost forgotten: _Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; what immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?_

'Ah, William Blake,' Hook remarked, swiping away another branch.

Cassandra was mildly impressed he recognised the quotation. Currently irrelevant but still interesting, this information put his birthdate somewhere after the 1770s.

'I didn't know you liked poetry,' she said conversationally, scrambling over a log.

'I reap enjoyment from many things – however I must give my English master credit for drumming that particular verse into my head,' he replied, vaulting over the same log with barely a break in his stride.

Cassandra nodded, and they continued a little further in silence.

'So you went to Eaton?' she said. It was more of a statement than a question.

'I had that pleasure. My father, whoever the man was, while not actually deigning to acknowledge me in any other material way, at least ensured I was given a halfway decent education,' he replied, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice.

Cassandra laughed humourlessly, 'at least yours did that much for you. My dear old dad was three-quarters drunk, two-thirds of the time and completely plastered the other third. He liked to give us a hiding with the sharp end of his belt if he could catch us.'

Hook barked out a laugh, 'a not entirely unjustified course of action in relation to your fair self, upon occasion, I have no doubt.'

Cassandra rolled her eyes, 'do you try to be unpleasant or is it a default setting. At least you got an education. We were all dirt poor, and, there were nine of us kids, we had to work to live.'

She grinned suddenly, 'I did however do a spell at Eaton myself later on though. Much, much later on. It was well after your time. It also may have been… well, kind of, a little bit… come to think of it, definitely my fault, it, sort of… burnt down in a tragic and totally unintentional accident…'

Hook frowned and appeared to be about to inquire further, but before he could speak, Cassandra skidded to an abrupt halt, arm extended to stop him.

'We're getting close… at least, I think we are,' she amended. 'The general area looks familiar, and the trees just got a whole lot creepier. Since maintaining an element of surprise is important to the overall plan, as well as our continued survival, I think it best I reconnoitre ahead. Alone.'

'I agree,' Hook replied quietly, drawing and cocking a pistol, 'the rest of the men will remain here, and any who raises a noise will face the consequences upon my return. I however, will be accompanying you.'

'I don't think so,' Cassandra hissed.

'Oh, but I must insist. This may well all be a ruse, a trap... a subterfuge. I have no assurance you have not made some sort of covenant to deliver us straight into their tender embrace.' The Captain smiled, his eyes cold and very blue as he ran the tip of his hook gently along the barrel of his pistol, 'and in the event of such an occurrence, I deem it wise to lay down some form of insurance. Namely myself and the accompanying knowledge that I will gut you without hesitation should you cross me.'

'You could try,' Cassandra muttered, but grudgingly even she had to admit to herself that there weren't really many relevant arguments for arguing the toss on this one. She already knew he could move with uncanny silence, and it wouldn't exactly hurt to have an extra pair of eyes.

She sighed theatrically and threw up her hands, 'fine. You can come. Just try not to do anything stupid and remember to follow my lead.'

Hook gave a slight nod and signalled to his men to maintain their position. At least, Cassandra mused as they moved forwards cautiously – since she could trust him not to put his own life in jeopardy, he would probably listen to her… for now.

They kept very low to the ground, taking care to leave the debris littering the forest floor undisturbed. After creeping forward through the trees for several hundred meters – she thought she could make out the clearing and the enormous tree at its core.

There was a flicker of movement not far away. Cassandra dropped down behind a shrub, dragging Hook with her, ignoring his grunt of annoyance as the bottom of his coat came into contact with the damp earth.

They crouched there motionless, eyes fixed on a single scruffy, adolescent boy who floated down through the trees and scampered off into the clearing with a series of animalistic yells.

Cassandra was unspeakably glad that Hook had abstained from wearing his habitual scarlet for once. The man might be flamboyant to a fault, but he wasn't a complete idiot.

After a few minutes of peering over the shrubbery, Cassandra shuffled around on her knees to face Hook and mouthed 'time to go.'  
Bent low she crept back, flitting behind the trees and occasionally glancing behind as Hook followed her, silent as a shadow.

The pirates were still exactly where they had left them – extended exposure to the notoriously volatile captain had long since educated them to the merits of silence – albeit a rather sullen one. They were a superstitious lot and to say they didn't wish to be here, was putting it lightly.

At Hook's order, in pairs they grudgingly took up position scattered through the trees – nets held at the ready. Some scaled trees to string nets up where flying boys might careen into them – were they paying less than usual attention to their surroundings. Others strung their nets between the trees at mid-height or crouched low to the ground, ready to be pulled taut at a moment's notice.

They were under strict orders to sound the alert the moment that a lost boy was contained, and then they would all haul ass out of there as fast as humanly possible.

Now for the unpleasant part, Cassandra had to walk back up there and poke the proverbial bear with a very big stick. She might just throw up first. Or faint. Or run away screaming in the opposite direction. It wasn't too late to say screw them all and join the settlement. But no, she wasn't a coward so she squared her shoulders and stuck to her guns.

Hook watched with slight amusement the rather interesting array of expressions which worked their way in rapid succession across Cassandra's face. She shifted from one leg to the other, closed her eyes, tilted her head from side to side, rolled her shoulders, sucked in a couple of deep breaths and then took of back towards the clearing, apparently having psyched herself up enough to do the deed.

There was almost absolute silence for an inordinately long amount of time. Almost too long. Hook began to wonder if she had been struck down without warning, or captured. But, he fancied if she had been set upon, there would have been a few more shrieks – on both sides.

Then came the faint pounding of running feet followed by a mad cacophony of whoops and yells, as if all the creatures of hell had been spewed forth to torment them.

As these sounds grew closer the pirates grew tense, eyes wide – watchful and home to more than a hint of terror. Hook's crew were vicious, murderous cutthroats – rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves – they pillaged and plundered, kidnapped and ravaged without the smallest ounce of regret. But, they were intimately familiar with what these unnatural children could do to a man, and this struck fear into even the blackest buccaneer of them all.

This fear pulled taut like a bowstring, until finally it was overreached, and snapped. An enormous grizzled pirate, every inch of him tattooed, turned tail and ran. Without turning around, Hook raised his pistol and shot the man in the back. The ball passed clean through his chest to bury itself with a hail of splinters, in the trunk of a tree.

'The next man,' Hook said calmly, 'will take a shot to the leg. After serving as a plaything to the demon spawn, he will beg for such a merciful death.'

The unfortunate who had sought to flee, took a final rattling breath, and with a gurgle expired, a pool of blood leaking out of his ruined chest to soak into the hungry ground. Hook reload his pistol.

Cassandra burst through the branches and hurled herself down beside Hook who was concealed behind the trunk of an enormously tall and thick pine tree. She stayed there, eyes level with his boots, breathing hard.

Seconds later, the horde came careening down – ready for blood.

The nets, made of very thin, but strong cord, nearly invisible among the leaves were pulled taut.

Hook raised his pistol.

Cassandra scrambled to her feet, reaching for the knife in her boot.

There was a chaos of sound.

The crashing of branches.

The snap of ropes.

A pistol shot.

Yells of surprise, rage, glee.

Screams of pain.

A pistol shot.

The wet, meaty thunk of steel through flesh.

A single voice, almost desperate in its articulation, resounded through the pandemonium – 'we caught one!'

'Retreat,' Hook bellowed, 'damn you all, run! And if the brat doesn't make it to the boats I'll skin the incompetent fool responsible ALIVE!'

So they ran. Faster, and harder than they had ever run before.

The air was heavy with the scent of blood, gunpowder and fear. Men were falling all around as Cassandra dodged through the trees. A man went down just in front of her, an arrow protruding through his left eye-socket and another through his thigh. She skidded and would have gone down with him if Hook hadn't grabbed a fist-full of her collar and yanked her along with him.

He released her, and turning, fired behind him, each pistol finding its mark, sending a flying boy hurtling downwards to his death. Normally Cassandra wouldn't advocate child murder, but under the circumstances, she wasn't judging. Without time to reload, he shoved the pistols back into his belt and kept going.

There was an unholy shriek as several men crashed down into perhaps the self-same pit Cassandra had herself escaped only days before.

Cassandra's vision was beginning to tunnel and her leg was on fire. Sweat rolled down her back and her breath burned down her throat.

There appeared to be an inexhaustible number of lost boys pursuing them, whenever one fell, there seemed to be two or three more to take his place. Every one more wild and baying for blood than his comrades.

With a final crash, the fleeing pirates catapulted out of the forest and onto the beach. The men who had been left to mind the boats snapped to attention, scrambling to unload their muskets into the midst of the pursuers.

There were a final few bloody minutes of battle before the boys turned and melted into the trees, apparently satisfied with their sport for the day.

The remaining pirates were rather a sorry bunch. More a third of their number had fallen along the way, and many of those remaining had not escaped unscathed.

Cassandra remained relatively unharmed, but was doubled up, clutching her stomach and wheezing as she tried to get her breath back.

Hook was bleeding from a long scratch which ran down the side of his face but otherwise seemed composed and insouciant as he cleaned and reloaded his brace of pistols.

Cassandra straightened up, still breathing heavily, but no longer winded. 'Did we get one?' she asked, 'I really hope we got one, because I will not be doing that again.'

As it transpired, they indeed had captured one of the band of merry miscreants. Two of the pirates, had netted a small and rather scrawny specimen and, had somehow managed to keep a hold of him in the melee, although they had received more than a few vicious scratches for their trouble. He lay on the sand, twisted up in the net like an unusual fish, wriggling, kicking and swearing. His vocabulary was both colourful and inventive.

'Excellent work,' Hook said, 'two extra tots of rum for the both of you. And, an extra ration for every man still fit enough to swallow.' There was a universal cheer at this, for nothing warms the heart of a pirate, despite any recent brushes with death, than an extra helping of rum.

As the boats were reloaded, Cassandra watched, uncertain of how to precede. She didn't deem it particularly wise to remain on the beach after what just transpired, and it was now rather bloodstained in places. However the last two visits she had paid the Jolly Roger hadn't exactly panned out well.

The thought of a hot meal, a hot bath and a decent bed won the day so she climbed into one of the boats and sat back, rubbing at her leg.

Hook boarded the same boat, and sat down beside her.  
'My congratulations on the success of your enterprise,' he said as the boats were rowed back, slower than before due to the universal weariness of their occupants, to the ship. 'Although I lost a deal more men than I bargained for.'

'I didn't think you were overly concerned about the general well-being of your crew,' Cassandra replied, 'you seem to shoot enough of them yourself.'

'That may be true, but the loss of too many able-bodied sailors is always to be mourned. A captain can hardly call himself a captain if he has no crew.'

As they sat there, the sky darkening to night and the waves splashing gently all around them, for the first time in a long time, a companionable silence floated between them. How long this new found amicability would last… well, only time and the coming events would tell.

 _ **A/N:**_

 _I would like to dedicate this chapter to my dear, sweet, sister, Lucia. Luckily for Hook you're not the main character of this story – I doubt he'd still have all his limbs. Stay creepy and good luck with the bone collection.  
I would also like to dedicate it to BookRain who has been patiently waiting for me to update for months _

_So firstly' I'd like to apologise for being a bad writer and not updating for ages, but real life kind of got in the way. I had finals at uni, but the good news is I passed law and all my other courses, so worth it. And then, I went away on holiday for two weeks, and the people I was staying with got Netflix while I was there, so obviously I watched that for hours instead of doing anything productive._

 _Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and followed so far, you guys are the reason I keep writing._

 _ **Relating to the Story:**_

 _David Caspar Friedrich was a painter who produced some very dramatic pieces – google Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog and you'll see what I'm talking about._

 _I referenced a couple of pirates from the book – ie Noodler with his hands on backwards and Bill Jukes, every inch of him tattooed._

 _Spot the Game of Thrones reference, there's a Doctor Who one in there as well, but it's less obvious._

 _I quoted the song Yo Ho (A Pirates Life for Me) from the Pirates of the Caribbean Disneyland ride. There were a bunch of other Pirates of the Caribbean references, in there as well._

 _Tyger, Tyger is a poem by William Blake which I studied in school._


	13. Chapter 13 - You'll Bleed Again

The journey back to the ship was relatively uneventful. The crew remained on edge during the entire journey, however. The Lost Boy, and the occasional glimpse of an iridescent fin breaking the water – signalling the presence of mermaids, left them uncharacteristically wary. Despite seeming to circle for a while, the mermaids drew no closer, perhaps due to the strange necklace concealed in Cassandra's shirt, but more likely because they preferred to hunt more vulnerable prey than this veritable armada.

As the bow of their rowboat bump-bumped, against the side, Hook was the first one up the ladder, ascending with surprising dexterity and speed, despite his missing appendage.

The Lost Boy was hauled up like a sack of potatoes (if potatoes swore profusely and made colourful death threats) and, still entangled in the net, was tossed unceremoniously onto the deck. He writhed around like an eel, shouting and cursing and shrieking out threats.

The crew hovered, watching him with sharp eyes, undisguised hatred written large on their faces. There was not a man among them who would not relish the opportunity to take revenge on their incapacitated foe. All had suffered at the hands of these things… which looked like children but dealt out cruel death, with a terrifying cold malice. To repay the countless deaths and indignities in kind would be sweet, but the fear of their Captain – which grew in all their hearts like a creeping vine, held them back.

'I'll kill all of you,' the boy was hollering, 'I'll scoop out your eyes and eat them. I'll wear your tongues as a necklace…'

'I hardly think,' Cassandra said, cutting him off mid-tirade, 'you're in any kind of position to make threats. You are, after all, the one who's trussed up tighter than a Christmas goose'

The boy scowled at her, 'ugly old hag,' he spat.

Cassandra shook her head, 'didn't anyone ever tell you,' she said, 'it isn't polite to remind a lady of her age. I may be a hideously decrepit old crone, but a gentleman would refrain from pointing out such a harsh truth. Besides, it isn't exactly wise to antagonise your captors. If you were a little nicer to us, maybe we would consider not locking you in the brig.'

The boy's only response was to emit an awful growling sound as he began to claw his way across the deck, doubtless with the intention of acquiring her tongue for his grisly necklace.

Hook looked down at the boy, a disdainful curl to his lips. 'Remove this piece of filth from my deck and take it to the brig,' he ordered. 'Slap the little devil in irons and take care he is well secured. If he escapes, I'll skin the imbecile responsible alive, and have his hide made into a pair of boots.'

'I'll kill you,' the boy screamed again, practically incandescent with rage. 'You old codfish. I'll cut of off your other hand and make you eat it! I'll…'

Hook waved his hand impatiently, and the boy was hauled away, struggling wildly. His strident vocalisations of protest and general ire could be heard long after the pair of burly pirates had dragged him down the stairs towards his new quarters.

After the day's events, the Captain seemed to be, relatively speaking, in a 'good mood,' doubtless pleased to have outwitted and captured one of his enemies. So, Cassandra took this opportunity to sidle up to him and state the request she had been mulling over ever since they returned to the ship.

'I think it would be mutually beneficial if I had my own cabin,' she said. 'It doesn't have to be a big one, but you can't have forgotten what happened last time I had to share a living space with you.'

Hook glared at her, 'how could I forget. Not only did you indelicately bleed all over one of my finest jackets, ruining it beyond all repair, but your conduct was generally unladylike and dare I say unpleasant it its manner. I will gladly provide you with a _cabin_ , if only to preserve what little of my sanity remains, from your destructive influence.'

Cassandra had more than half expected him to either outright refuse out of spite, or to make another one of his indecent propositions, so, she was left pleasantly surprised by his lack of protest. However, she refrained from pointing out he had not exactly presented the very model of a perfect gentleman, during the aforementioned interactions.

The cabin, if you could call it that, was indeed miniscule in its proportions. It was also very dust and crammed with an assortment of sacks, crates and bundles. She suspected he had deliberately selected the most inconvenient space available, but since there was just enough room to squish inside and sling a hammock, she wasn't going to complain. Cassandra had slept in many a worse place, and at least this one had the advantage of being private, and dry. She filched a couple of pillows and a blanket or two to make the hammock more accommodating.

Despite the relative earliness of the hour, she shoved her wedge under the door, clambering and squeezing her way over to the hammock. She pulled the blankets over her chin and drifted off into sleep in minutes.

While sleep came easily, dreams caught her up and carried her away on a dark tide.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself at home in her flat, just waking up from a curious dream. She had been trapped on an island – vague memories swirled through her mind – a ship, a flying boy and a man with a hook instead of a hand.

Her throat felt unbearably dry, as if the inside of her mouth was stuffed with cotton wool, so she slipped on a robe and padded across the room towards the hallway and then the kitchen.

Darkness lingered in the room, despite the fact it should have been morning… must have been morning.

She wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, its cold realness comforting after the uncertainty of her dream. She swung the door open and stepped out.

The ground fell away below her and she was falling.

Wind whistled past at a terrifying velocity, snatching at her hair and tearing at her clothes. The darkness was so thick even her own hands were lost from sight.

And still she fell.

She felt the impact of collision blossom out through every atom of her body. She felt her bones splinter and disintegrate. A white hot light of pure agony exploded across her vision before the universe was once again swallowed by the darkness.

The next time she opened her eyes, she was standing on the deck of the Jolly Roger, but not as she had last seen it. It was a rotting hulk, lying half submerged in murky brackish waters, the deck slick with slime and treacherous with decay as the sea crept higher.

The atmosphere was chill, and heavy with the kind of choking decay which creeps deep into the lungs and grows there like a fungus. The only illumination in this world of unending night came from the sickly half-light of a waning moon, its feeble glow trickling down through the tattered sails.

She looked down, but instead of her pyjamas, she was wearing some kind of blue dress – or was it a nightgown… with a high waist and puffed sleeves. She stared down further, into an incongruously still and clear pool of water, into the eyes of a face which was not her own.

It was a girl, much younger than she had been when she left home for the first and last time. She had a small, pale heart-shaped face, framed by golden brown ringlets, which were already beginning to droop in the oppressive dampness of the air.

She raised a small hand to her throat and found a slender gold chain, but instead of the shell she fancied should be there, it held a small dirty-brown acorn. She held it up to what remained of the light, wondering what it was doing there.

From somewhere behind her, an icy hand wound its fingers around her shoulder, sending a chill shivering through her veins towards her heart. She dropped the acorn and swung around to face to face this presence.

It was him. The Captain. She had thought him tall before, but now he towered over this smaller body, his hook a reaper's scythe against the starless sky.

The eyes she remembered as an almost hypnotising forget-me-not blue, were bleeding crimson pools. He smiled at her, an awful sight, all sharp white teeth and thin red lips.

The Captain raised his hand to caress her cheek, and she saw with horror that it too was rotting, the pale bone peeping through blackened flesh, his gold rings sinking into the skin.

She jerked away, stumbling backwards towards the yawning abyss which threatened to consume what remained of the vessel. The water closed around her ankles, sucking greedily at the hem of her nightgown.

'Let me go,' she heard herself saying – it was an unfamiliar voice and part of her brain seemed to register this was not Cassandra speaking.

He laughed, the sound of it rolling through the air like thunder before a storm, but when he spoke his voice was soft. 'It is not I who keeps you here. You came of your own will my dove. Can't you see your life has run out? Just a little ghost trapped in a bag of old bones.'

'Who are you?' her other voice said.

'I am everything you fear, everything you hate.'

'I'm not afraid of you,' Cassandra's voice broke out now, strong and defiant.

He looked closer at her, eyes narrow as they pierced through flesh and bone.

'No?' he said, the corners of his lips curling up in an empty smile, 'but she is. I was the spectre which haunted her nightmares. The villain of her waking dreams. But, I was never the true danger. I was only ever a story. Something else found its way to her window.'

His face seemed to flicker, and as she watched, he melted into the boy others called Peter, but she knew as death. He smiled at her, his teeth pointed and cunning.

'I'm not afraid,' she repeated, but this time the voice which came out sounded tragically young and desperately scared.

'Oh, but you are. Everyone is. She wasn't at first, but then she began to see what I really am and the terror came for her, in the end,' he laughed, his voice harsh and terrible.

'You killed her,' it wasn't a question. 'You killed me.'

The boy floated closer. The water was up to her knees now.

'Why?'

'It was already too late for her. The seeds of adulthood had taken root in her mind. She wanted to leave – had half convinced the others. They all began to see.'

The boy smiled again, and she felt his pale fingers burning cold around her throat, pushing her down into the water. As she died, his face changed again, into the man he had been, and she felt the dark embrace her. From far, far away, a whisper found her, 'you'll bleed again before we're through.'

'So will you,' she whispered back.

For a while she felt nothing at all, but then, there was the sensation of falling again and her eyes snapped open. Cassandra jerked upright, clutching at the sides as she tumbled out of the hammock.

The breath seemed to rattle in her throat as dark spots began to form in front of her eyes. Her chest was heavy and bloated. She clawed at the blankets which still entangled her legs, fighting for just one gasp of air. The room was closing in around her, swallowing her whole.

She scrambled across the piles of debris, snatching the wedge from under the door with desperate fingers. She stumbled into the corridor outside as something clawed its way up her throat, bitter and burning. She fell onto her hands and knees and vomited out a sea of salty, brackish water. She spluttered and gasped for air, retching again and again until her lungs were clear.

With a stinging throat, but thankfully able to breath, she slumped back against the wall and stared with incredulity at the water which was soaking its way into the boards. She raised a hand to her head and felt with mounting confusion that her hair was not only damp, but so wet that it dripped rivulets of water down her back, over her equally soaked clothes.

On shaking legs she staggered back into the cabin. The hammock, her blankets – everything she had been touching as she slept was soaking wet.

She stared at it all for several minutes, then threw back her head and practically cackled with laughter. It was a shrill, hysterical kind of laugh which shook through her whole body and snaked its way through the ship and out into the morning light.

When Hook found her, some ten minutes later, she was still laughing. He rounded the corner, expression furious, cutlass in hand. Taking one look at her bedraggled appearance and the growing puddle of water, he sheathed his cutlass and raised one exquisitely expressive brow. 'I cannot imagine,' he said, 'what can have possessed you to pitch yourself into the ocean at such an hour. Clearly you have become mentally unhinged.'

'I didn't,' she choked out, 'I haven't left this room the entire night. But I think something might have gotten inside.'

He looked at her sceptically, 'I have no idea what game you think we're playing here? But whatever it is, it is in poor taste.'

'I don't think you understand. I went to sleep and I had this dream. It was so real. I've never experienced anything like it, I could feel everything that was happening to me, and then I woke up drowning. The wedge was still under the door, so I couldn't have left, and no one could have got in.'

Hook spoke slowly, as you would speak to a child, 'a dream. You expect me to believe you a dream magically conjured up several gallons of seawater.'

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, 'I don't expect anything, but it happened. I've seen some pretty strange things before, things which defied explanation, but nothing like this.'

Seemingly despite himself, Hook asked, 'what was this… dream about…'

'It was about you. Well, you were in it – but I don't think it was really you, it was more like a reflection or a copy. And I wasn't me. I was this girl…' Cassandra frowned, 'she was wearing blue, and she had an acorn. She was scared and you sort melted away into Peter Pan. He said, I – she had been too old and then he drowned me.'

Hook's face had taken on a strange pallor. 'Did you say she was wearing a blue dress of some sort?' He asked, his voice sounding distant.

She nodded.

'The girl. The one you asked about when you first arrived. I can't remember her name, but she wore blue. She was here for, I don't recall how long and… I had assumed she had done the sensible thing and flown home to her parents. He never brought another girl after her, only boys.'

'Wendy Darling,' Cassandra whispered. 'I don't think she ever left. She wanted to grow up so he killed her.'

She grabbed Hook's sleeve and shook it vigorously her voice taking on an almost hysterical note, 'he's going to kill me too. If this plan fails, it's only a matter of time. He was there – in the dream. No matter where I hide he'll find me and I'll end up like her. When I was waking up I heard him, he said he was going to make me bleed.'

'Calm yourself, woman,' Hook said. He had little experience dealing with distressed females and it made him vaguely uncomfortable. He would have thought it would please him to see her crack, but it didn't, not like this. If she was to suffer, he would prefer to be the cause.

She let go and leaned back against the wall, breathing in and out slowly with her eyes closed.

She opened them again, and the hint of terror from moments ago was gone. She had a determined set to her shoulders and seemed to have recovered most of her composure.

'Right,' she said with a reasonable degree of calmness, 'I've been here for over a week and this hasn't happened before, so what's changed between then and now?'

Her eyes narrowed as it ticked over in her brain, mumbling unintelligibly under her breath.

As the question had clearly been more rhetorical in nature, the Captain remained silent, absentmindedly rubbing his hook backwards and forwards against his shirtsleeve.

'A-ha,' she said, eyes flashing with realisation, 'there's only one thing that's fundamentally different this time. Unless, this room is somehow cursed, haunted or otherwise possessed, but I've mostly discounted that possibility… anyway I digress. The only thing,' she said triumphantly, 'is the fact that we've got a Lost Boy stashed away in the brig not more than a couple of hundred feet below where I was sleeping.'

'I can't imagine what difference that would make…' he began.

'They spend all their time with him, and if he is somehow responsible for the island being the way it is, then it's entirely possible something might have rubbed off onto them. Why it manifested in me, well, becoming Wendy, I'm not sure…' she trailed off. 'Where's the brig?'

/

It was cold down there, and damp. Still in her wet clothes Cassandra shivered, but it was more than that, there were faint echoes of her dream down here, in the smell of the water and the slant of the darkness.

She approached the bars and slipped her fingers around them, peering into the interior, illuminated by the light of a flaming torch Hook was holding. The boy was lank and scrawny with tufts of matted brown hair. His clothes were filthy and little better than rags. But through all the dirt, she saw a faint gleam. Around his neck hung what looked like a thin gold chain. Realisation dawned and Cassandra let out a small gasp. The boy snapped awake, and just for a moment, he looked vulnerable in his sleepy youth. But before she could blink he had hurled himself against the bars, growling and clawing at the fingers she withdrew only just in time.

'Michael,' she said softly, 'John?'

The boy ceased his battering for a second, tilting his head to the side with a small frown.

'Michael,' he whispered, 'John… Wendy.' His eyes were suddenly clear and alert. He touched the chain around his neck, 'Wendy.'

'What happened?' Cassandra said.

His eyes grew dark and feral again and he began to howl in an almost inhuman way, scrabbling at the bars; either unconscious or uncaring of the blood which began to drip its way down his arm as he tore the skin.

Cassandra shook her head and turned to leave. 'It just keeps getting better and better,' she said to Hook, 'kidnappings, maimings and now child murder. It's a wonder this isn't a more popular holiday destination. I don't care if I die trying, I'm dragging that psychopath back with me to answer for all the frankly disturbing things he's done. Even if my ghost has to come back to wreck its terrible vengeance, he is going down.'

She sounded confident, but even as she said it, that awful whisper echoed in her ears – 'you'll bleed again before we're through.'

 _ **A/N:**_ _I didn't think I'd have another chapter out this quickly (well, quickly for me anyway). It's my birthday today (WOOH), so instead of studying I decided to get this finished. This whole chapter wasn't what I expected it to be. It kind of accidently changed direction from what I had originally planned, so I'm not quite sure what that means going forward, but I plan to figure it out. Hope you enjoyed it and it wasn't too melodramatic (I can be very melodramatic, it's one of my many faults_ _). Leave me a review to let me know what you thought._


	14. Chapter 14 - Seeds of Deceit

'That was horrible,' Cassandra said once they had reached the deck above the brig level. 'In the book they went back to home London at the end and lived out perfectly boring, respectable lives. Now, it turns out they never even left the island. It shouldn't have surprised me I suppose. Practically nothing is the same as that blasted book, nothing good at any rate. But, I was hoping somehow it had turned out alright for them.'

She shrugged and fiddled with the hem of her still damp shirt. 'I suppose we shall just have to continue on as we've begun. It's only a matter of time before he really does kill me. Even you probably can't last forever, eventually he is bound to tire of the game. He was straight up insane before, but I think hundreds of years of being trapped in a child's body has left him even more rotten. Not to mention the fact that apparently I could now die in a dream, Nightmare on Elm Street style.'

Hook leaned against a doorframe, his arms crossed, 'the blackguard has already robbed me of a limb, and a goodly portion of my sanity. I am loathe to admit it, but I have often worried that there will come a day when I lose more than just a hand. I do not know this Elm Street you speak of, but this ordeal is most indubitably a nightmare of the first order.'

Cassandra laughed hollowly, and then shivered, whether from the cold, or the thought of almost certain impending death. She fished out an equally damp handkerchief from her pocket and attempted to wipe her dripping nose on it.

'I must insist,' Hook said, 'before we attempt to accomplish anything of a material nature, that you take a bath, or at the very least change into some dry garments. In this state, you are like to catch a chill and die of a fever, robbing both Pan and my good self the chance of finishing you ourselves.'

She thought must be joking about the last part, but she couldn't be quite sure...

He bent quickly and flicked a strand of seaweed from her hair with the tip of his hook. It was a very different gesture than she was accustomed to from him. It was abrupt and a little detached rather than threatening, or an attempt at seduction. She looked down at her dripping, salt-encrusted self and had to agree with his summation of the situation.

'You quite resemble one of the denizens of the deep,' he mused. 'It seems we cannot help but meet when you are in some state of disarray or distress.'

Possibly in the light of what he clearly assumed to have been a traumatic experience, the captain, with an unusually philanthropic gesture, made his cabin available for her use, so she might take a bath without the worry that she might be observed. He even presented her with the key to the door.

Still, she skulked suspiciously around for a few minutes, checking no one was lurking about outside, or spying in some way. But, with nothing arising to trouble her, she thankfully sank into her second hot bath since arriving in Neverland, feeling a little of her stress wash away with the grime.

As she worked soap through her briny locks, she considered Hook. The man was abrasive and even rather rude, but she grudgingly admitted she was coming to despise him a little less as time wore on. She would not go so far as to say she actually liked him, but she was willing to stretch to the relatively warm acknowledgement that at least she could tolerate remaining in his general vicinity.

Her eyes drifted shut, and she slid her head under the water to rinse the soap from her hair. For the briefest moment, the world jarred out of its proper place and she was drowning again in that dark and endless sea, with those long pale fingers wrapped around her throat. She snapped back out of the water, half afraid and half angry.

She had been on the job a long time, and while there had been instances when her limits were sorely tested, but she had never teetered this close to the brink before. She had seen it in others of course, it was something of an occupational hazard. Sometimes the stress was just too much for the puny human brain to take, and people just snapped – hopefully with minimal fuss and with as little collateral damage as possible. It was one of those things you were convinced could never happen to you… until one day it did.

The enjoyment of the bath having been thoroughly soured by now, Cassandra wrapped herself in the awaiting towel and climbed out. The long scratches on her side were healing nicely, and most of the bruises were starting to fade by now, but she still resembled a mugging victim. She dressed from her rather sorry array of clothes, most of which were still covered in fading bloodstains. She looked like the vengeful ghost from a horror movie, which, was strangely satisfying.

She ran her fingers through the tangled locks of her damp hair and then went out on deck. The Captain was nowhere to be seen, so she decided to wander around for a while. It was a fine day, but with enough of a breeze to catch up her hair and send it dancing around her head.

Several men were working busily around the ship, tending to various tasks, the nature of which Cassandra was wholly ignorant. The last two times she had found herself on board, Cassandra had had very little introduction with the crew. Really, the only two members she had spoken to at any length were Hook and Smee.

She was rather bored, having had little human interaction over the past few days, so she made her way over to a tall and rather gaunt man with an unusually scholarly air about him. He looked more like an office-clerk than a bloodthirsty pirate, but then again, Ted Bundy hadn't really looked like a serial killer.

'How long have you been here? In Neverland I mean,' she asked conversationally. The man looked at her wearily, 'I really couldn't say, miss. But far too long for my liking,' he said, his eyes darting away to survey the expanse of deck.

She stuck out her hand, 'I'm Cassandra,' she said with a smile. He took her hand and shook it cautiously. 'Jasper Starkey ma'am, although I go by Gentleman Starkey.'

'Have you always been a pirate Mr Starkey?' she asked, 'or were you press-ganged or something?'

'I joined the crew in the early days. I was once the usher in an educational establishment for young gentleman, but having fallen upon hard times I turned to a life of crime, and finding myself adept, continued as a pirate.'

'Must have been a bummer when you ended up stuck here for hundreds of years,' she said, 'how did that even happen, may I ask?'

'There was a dark and uncanny storm,' he said solemnly, 'it engulfed the ship and brought us to these strange and treacherous shores, from which escape seems impossible.'

'So, what do you think of Hook?' she asked, 'what kind of captain is he really?'. The man blanched, 'I really could not say,' he said carefully, 'but I really must continue with my work. Good day miss.' He bobbed a low bow and hurried away.

A harsh laugh rang out from behind her. Cassandra rolled her eyes, 'you realise that you are a massive creeper,' she said turning around. Hook was, of course, standing feet away, a smirk adorning his face. She fished the key from her pocket and tossed it at him. Disappointingly, he snatched it out of the air and tucked it away into his waistcoat.

'The crew are hardly about to speak ill of me to you,' he said, 'not when they fear I may overhear them at any time. Their trepidation is not unfounded, I have indeed shot a fair number of them for insubordination in the past.'

'What if they all ganged up against you and staged a mutiny, have you ever thought about that?'

Hook smiled, his eyes glinting red. 'Oh, they have tried. But only the once.'

Cassandra wanted to know more, because mutinies are interesting, but she also did not want to ask him because he was already conceited enough. So regretfully, she didn't.

Hook swept out his arm and gestured towards the lower decks, 'shall we begin to sow the seeds of our little deception' he said, 'I have had a room just above the brig prepared. It is close enough for the occupant to hear every word, but not so obvious that it would raise suspicion.'

As they were on their way down, Smee puffed his way up the stairs to meet them. 'I roused the boy,' he huffed. 'He was sleeping, but I tossed a bucket of water over him like you said and he's up and swearing and clawing at the walls like a wild animal'. He shook his head in solemn disapproval, frowning over the tops of his spectacles.

'We can only hope,' Hook said quietly as he led the way into a small room, 'that it still retains enough human intellect to comprehend the nature of our conversation, for if not, all will be lost and we must be resigned to spend the last few days which remain to us, seeking solace in each other's arms.'

Cassandra snorted, 'we can only hope,' she said wryly.

Down below, in the cold gloom of the brig, the boy stalked around the narrow length of his prison. He growled, low and deep in his throat and hurled his shoulder into the cold iron of the bars again and again, careless of the bruises which slowly began to bloom up across his skin. A voice drifted through the boards, light and female, catching his attention. It was joined in conversation by a harder, male voice. The boy stilled, his eyes dark as he stared upwards.

'It's a shame we didn't manage to net Pan as we planned,' the female voice commented, 'but then we always knew that he was too cowardly to actually face more than one or two of us at time. Of course he would send his pathetic minions instead of facing us himself.'

The boy sat carefully down on the floor, legs crossed and listened intently.

'It is of no matter,' the male voice said, 'the boy is of no match to me, tis only a matter of time until I hunt him down and carve him open, gut him like an animal.'

'In a fair fight, out in the open, it would be no contest at all. That's why he lurks in those woods, because is afraid of you. I mean, you're a grown man, strong and, intelligent and a fighter. There is no way he could take you on, one on one.'

'No doubt,' the man agreed, 'even when the brat managed to sever my hand, he snuck up upon me unawares, like a coward.'

'Even when I knew him back in the agency,' the woman said, 'he was exactly the same. Everyone thought he was a loser and we all laughed at him behind his back. The only reason he was able to kill all those people was because no one ever thought he would have the guts to do something like that. I mean, he was such a coward, he pretended to be this brave adventurer, and a good agent, but we all saw through it. We all thought he was pathetic. That's probably why he hates you so much, you're the kind of man he could never be.'

'Even you,' the man said, 'a mere, weak, feeble woman, is perfectly capable of vanquishing him. I believe, if what you say is true, the reason he took the form of a child is because that is what he is at heart, a fragile and fearful infant.'

'I have a plan,' the woman said, 'he hides in the woods because that's where he feels safe. He can sneak up on us, never having to face us in the open. He thinks himself untouchable. So, we should start clearing the forest, build a stockade so we can gain a foothold on his territory. Then, eventually when we have culled enough of the trees he won't have anywhere to hide and we can hunt him down. Besides, there is no danger he will attack us on the beach, he would be too afraid of facing us in the open, and by the time we have a stockade, and then another built, it will be too late'

'I will order the men to begin preparations immediately. We will set up camp on the beach. It will be easier to oversee the work at closer quarters.'

'What shall we do with the boy?'

'I will wrest out any secrets he may be hiding and then, I will dispose of him,' there was a low menacing chuckle and then the scrapping of a chair and the tap of footsteps leaving the room.

'I bloody hope that worked,' Cassandra said, 'I will be so mad if I had to say nice things about you for nothing. For the record, I definitely do not think you could take Pan on, he would fillet you like a piece of tuna.'

'Likewise my dear,' Hook replied, 'I fear neither of us are present a convincing adversary for the band of demon children,' he grinned, 'it was rather gratifying to hear you speak well of me for once. If you were less snippy and more tranquil and agreeable in your disposition, you may not be yet unmarried.'

'I hate you,' Cassandra said, 'and your stupid 18th century masculinity.'

Cassandra dined with the Captain, he was rather more pleasant company than previous experience had led her to expect. With seemingly unspoken mutual agreement, they avoided topics which might lead to discord, such as his archaic opinions of woman and her general disgust for his aforementioned opinions of woman. Instead they conversed lightly about literature and the arts. Cassandra was not surprised to discover that Hook had an excellent grasp of classical literature, Eaton was famous after all for producing accomplished gentlemen.

On her part she relayed some of the more interesting stories of her travels, like the time she stole a horse from Genghis Khan and narrowly avoided fighting a duel with a young Leonardo da Vinci. She avoided anecdotes taking place after his time because her brain was already too preoccupied to get into having to explain the last three or so hundred years of world history. They finished off the night with a rather long game of chess, which Cassandra won by a hair's breadth. It was overall, the least unpleasant evening she had spent since her arrival.

When she went back to her room that evening, she was surprised, but nevertheless pleased to discover it had been set to rights. Someone had even cleared out the stacks of assorted goods, no doubt to dry them after the deluge. There was what appeared to be a fresh hammock. Despite the upgraded amenities she barely slept. The night was spent drifting in and out of a restless half sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was an unending stretch of dark, deep water and that cold pale face, waiting just beyond the edges of consciousness.

What the next morning would bring she wasn't sure. If all went according to plan, they would move to the next step – let the boy think that he had outsmarted them and managed to escape. If it went well, she might be home in few days, if not, then nothing would matter much anymore she imagined. For now, though she lay in the hammock listening to the sound of waves and the creak of the ship, staring at a ceiling she hoped never to see again.

In his cabin, Hook poured himself another glass of brandy, downing it in one swallow. He looked morosely down at the stump which had once been his hand and swore vengeance upon the enemy which had robbed him of so much more than an appendage. He dispensed with the glass and began to drink straight from the bottle.

In the brig, the boy had finally quietened, apparently from sheer exhaustion. In sleep he looked almost innocent and painfully childlike. The bones in his wrists and shoulders stuck out with sharp gauntness. The chain around his neck, dulled with the accumulation of dirt and years of exposure to the elements, the one remnant of a past where someone loved him.

The sky stretched dark and boundless above all of them, the stars which glinted down already dead and cold and a million, million miles away.

 _ **A/N:**_ _This chapter took me a long time to write. I was trying to get it finished over the holidays, but university happened again – hello criminology essay, goodbye sleep. I have had a ridiculous amount of law tests, seriously, sometimes I wonder why I do this, the amount of stress is unreal, I would much rather stay home and write about Cassandra and her rather unfortunate adventures_ _Anyway, it's done and here it is, hopefully it was worth the wait, even if it is a bit shorter than other chapters. I apologise if the plot is moving along quite slowly, I'm aiming for the whole story to end up being around a novel length, and I promise it is all heading somewhere, I have an end in mind and a vague idea of how to get there, so bear with me. I am writing this quite late at night in between studying, so if there are any errors, it's because my brain has decided it doesn't even want to try anymore._


	15. Chapter 15 - Skull Rock

The morning brought a thick sea fog which twined its way across the deck. Cassandra had not slept. The night had been spent tossing and turning until she had eventually become entangled in her blankets too tired to move. After a series of disturbed nights, her eyes were burning and her throat felt as if she had swallowed a handful of sand.

Neither spoke much over breakfast. The Captain was in a peculiar mood and Cassandra was nursing the kind of headache which flares up behind the eyes and pounds its way steadily towards the back of the skull. The Captain's face was even more gaunt than usual and his eyes were almost sunken, he did not appear to have enjoyed a particularly restful night. He did not touch the food, instead choosing to smoke a dreadful cigar, the smell of which almost turned her stomach.

Smee entered to clear away the breakfast things, but upon seeing the two figures slumped in opposite chairs glaring past each other in sullen silence, he thought better of it and backed out as hurriedly and silently as he was able. Previous experience had taught him to read the Captain's moods and to act accordingly, he had the scars to commemorate previous miscalculations.

'I dare say,' Cassandra rasped out at last, 'that we should get on with the business at hand. But, send someone in to wrangle him first. I'm not in the mood for any kind of noise.'  
Hook grunted and puffed out a cloud of thick black smoke.

'That will kill you, you know,' Cassandra said irritably, waving her napkin to dispel the pungent smoke.  
He barked out a laugh, 'if only that were true in the present circumstances.'

'I think you may just be the most disagreeable person I have ever met!'

'Spend a few hundred years in this seething hellhole and you might sing a different tune my dear.'

'That is precisely what I am trying to avoid. If we actually took care of business instead of sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves, with any luck by the weeks end we will never have to be bothered by each other again. Now, tell me that isn't a charming prospect.'

By the time they were ready to depart, the effects of the several large cups of coffee she had downed were beginning to take effect, and Cassandra had begun to feel vaguely more human. She was still exhausted, but the rush of caffeine running through her bloodstream had fooled her brain into thinking she had energy.

She clambered down the rope ladder to the waiting rowboat. It was a fairly precarious descent, as the ladder twisted and bumped against the side of the ship with every swell, threatening to tip its occupant off. Upon reflection, Cassandra decided to add ships to the list of things she hated. From now on, only nice land-based missions would be accepted, preferably somewhere with some rolling meadows and perhaps even a garden or two.

The lost boy was already in the bottom of the boat, securely trussed up. She hadn't observed how they had managed to manoeuvre him in, but she suspected it had been neither easy nor gentle. Despite being securely fastened, he still somehow managed to flop around like an eel. She could almost swear he was foaming at the mouth, it was really quite disturbing. Gingerly, Cassandra sat down as far away as possible. Thankfully, someone had had the presence of mind to gag him, so at least something akin to silence was preserved.

The boat rocked violently as Hook climbed in. His descent had been surprisingly swift, but she supposed he was well used to it after a life spent at sea.

He flicked his coat tails back and sat down, looking at her expectantly.

'What?' she said.

'The idea of a rowboat is that someone has to row,' he said almost patiently.

'You want me to row? I don't know where to go?'

'Well, I am hardly going to do it am I. For one thing, it's a trifle difficult to manage with only one hand. While I am capable if necessity calls for it, I'm afraid our progress would be quite slow. Besides I shall provide directions.'

'Oh.'

'It's quite easy, just pick up the oars and with a circular motion drag them through the water repeatedly while pointing the bow of the boat in the general direction…'

'I know how to row a boat, I'm not completely helpless, and you've seen me do it remember.'

'Well, in that case you had better proceed forthwith, we haven't much time before the tide comes in for the first time today, the seas behave in their own particular way here.'

Cassandra whistled, 'it really does look like a skull. A rather lopsided one, but a skull nonetheless.'

'Row towards the cave, there is a place to moor the boat. The tide is still low, but we haven't much time. According to my calculations, it should begin to come back in a little under an hour.'

'Do you think that's enough time to get him talking?' she asked, nodding her head in the direction of their squirming captive.

'In my humble experience, there is nothing quite like the threat of imminent and painful death to encourage even the most sullen of birds to sing.'

'So basically torture then.'

'Not at all my dear. If this charming fellow cooperates, I intend to indulge in nothing more unpleasant than a spot of light maiming.'

'Positively philanthropic of you.'

'My generosity of person is often commented on, as is my tender and merciful nature.'

The boat scraped against a rocky shelf jutting up out of the sea. Hook held the boat steady while Cassandra climbed out and secured it to an iron ring. Hook grabbed the wriggling boy by the scruff of the neck and tossed him up onto dry land. He then proceeded to drag the unwilling participant across the strip of rock and into the cave.

Close to the cave's mouth, several sets of manacles were fastened into the rock. Rusty with prolonged exposure to the elements, but apparently still sturdy.

'Is that a skeleton?'

'Excellent observation.'

'It's still got…well juicy bits on it. Why would you just leave that there?'

'I have not recently had occasion to make use of this particular form of punishment, I dare say I forgot about it. Such insignificant matters weigh little on my mind.'

'You really are a terrible sort of person.'

'As milady wishes. Now please hold him secure while I cut the bonds.'

Cassandra gripped what remained of the boy's shirt while Hook slashed through the ropes. There was a tearing sound as the boy twisted around and struck, quick as a viper. A particularly bony elbow connected with her stomach and she doubled over wheezing as something collided with her face, sending stars blossoming up over her vision.

She could dimly hear some kind of scuffle in the background, but was too busy trying to breathe again, to pay it much heed. After about a minute she straightened up painfully 'well that went as well as could be expected,' she said, 'I don't think he suspected that we let him get away on purpose.'

'Not entirely according to plan,' Hook growled.

She turned slowly to look in his direction. 'It appears that the skeleton has a friend,' she said rather thickly, through the blood which was now trickling out of her nose in a steady stream. She hoped it wasn't broken again.

He rattled the chain angrily, 'don't just stand there twittering woman, release me immediately!'

She tilted her head back, pinching the bridge of her nose, 'ow am I supposed to do dat,' she said, 'do you ave da key?'

'Of course I don't have the key, we weren't actually planning to chain the miscreant up remember, so I was hardly about to spend all morning searching for the damn thing.'

Cassandra cautiously tilted her head forward, her nose throbbed with a dull ache, but the flow seemed to have dried up. 'You should be grateful,' she said 'at least you weren't actually injured, I swear, by the time I get home, it will be a bloody miracle if there's anything left of me.'

'I am chained to a wall,' he said acidically, 'with the tide about to come in, who do you really think is the most inconvenienced by this little escapade?'

She strolled over, 'so let's get this straight,' she said counting off her fingers, 'we don't have the key, the tide will be coming in soon, oh, and the last person you left chained up here has lost a whole lot of weight. I must say, this really doesn't look good for you.'

Hook glared at her, 'you are being less than helpful.'

'I mean,' she continued, 'you're absolutely right, I'll be fine, I can just hop into the boat and leave, you on the other hand are definitely going to die.'

'Do something immediately,' Hook roared, 'or so help me I will gut you.'

'You might try being a bit nicer to me,' she said, 'considering I'm pretty much your only hope of getting out of this alive.' She looked back at the rowboat, 'I suppose I could row back and try to find the key,' she suggested.

Hook shook his head, 'it would take you far too long to get there and back, and even supposing you found the key, the water would have flooded the cave by the time you returned.'

'How attached are you to the hand?'

A crimson flame flashed through Hook's eyes and he practically growled at her.

'Relax, it was a joke, well mostly.'

'In exceptionally poor taste. This is no laughing matter wench.'

'Better than crying I always say. Anyway, I left my satchel on-board so that's no help. I usually take it everywhere, but I didn't want to risk the hell-child making off with it so I didn't bring it.'

'A discussion of what we don't have is hardly helpful at this point,' he spat out.

'Wait a minute,' she said, reaching up to run her fingers over her scalp, 'ah ha,' she exclaimed, 'I knew there was probably one in there somewhere.'

'What, is that?' he said rather sceptically.

'A bobby pin, it's dreadfully old-fashioned, but I have picked a lock with one of these before. Standard Nancy Drew stuff, every girl should know how.'

'Whatever it is you intend to do, make it quick, the water has already risen and I would prefer to avoid a watery grave if at all possible.'

'It's hardly the best light, but I'll try my best.' She knelt down next to the wall and took his wrist, twisting it so the keyhole on the manacle was visible. 'I haven't done this in years,' she said, 'but fingers crossed it's just like riding a bike.'

Hook grabbed her arm, his fingers clenched so tightly she yelped. 'Listen,' he hissed. Every hint of colour had drained from his skin and he looked like a man haunted. 'It has found me.'

The sound was faint, barely audible, but so heart-stoppingly terrible, that Cassandra could actually feel the blood freezing in her veins and the hairs prickling up on the back of her neck.

Tick- tock, tick-tock, tick-tock

Their eyes met, Hook's were filled with pure unadulterated terror, 'please,' was all he said.

Cassandra swallowed down the fear which was threatening to erupt and send her running, screaming, not that there was anywhere to run. She shoved the bobby-pin into the keyhole and began to work as calmly as was possible considering the circumstances.

The awful ticking sound grew louder. Hook's eyes never left the mouth of the cave. His hand shook slightly as she worked on the lock. She gripped his wrist tighter and muttered a desperate prayer under her breath.

She heard it then, a splash and then the scraping drag of something enormous pulling itself from the water. Then, the scratch of claws and that infernal ticking. She didn't turn around, if she saw what was behind her she would probably start screaming, and that would hardly help the situation. The Captain was trembling like a leaf by now, making it incredibly difficult to work on the lock.

Death seemed all but inevitable, but just when she could almost swear she felt hot breath on the back of her neck, there was a tiny click and the two halves fell away. She almost sobbed in relief, and then made the incalculable mistake of turning to look behind her. The crocodile was monstrous, its bulk nearly filling the mouth of the cave. Its eyes were black and cunning, and its teeth were almost as big as her hand. It looked hungry, and she doubted it would restrain its appetite to Hook when other options were on the menu.

Hook snatched up her arm in a vice-like grip and practically hauled her deeper into the cave. The ceiling sloped down, until they were forced to crouch. The beast moved with surprising swiftness, gaining on them rapidly.

Cassandra could see a tiny opening in the cave wall in front of them. She shook her head, 'I am not going in there,' she practically shrieked, 'it's too small!'

'It's either that or be devoured piece by piece,' he said grimly, 'do what you please, but I have no intention of giving it the satisfaction.'

There was a gust of foul air as the creature snapped its enormous jaws together only metres behind them. Cassandra bit out a strangled yelp and dived towards the opening. It was small, but she shoved herself into it and crawled forwards in the darkness, trying not to think about becoming stuck and suffocating or starving to death. She could hear him behind her, cursing profusely. There was a yelp, and he shoved her forwards. Behind them the crocodile roared and shoved its snout into the opening, snapping shut inches from the captain's feet.

It withdrew and surged forwards, apparently not caring if it became stuck in an effort to seize its prey. Cassandra crawled as fast as she was able, but the walls were closing in, and she had no idea how she, let alone he would fit through. She was dragging herself along on her stomach now and it was growing unbearably tight. Just as she thought she couldn't possibly go on, the way ahead opened up and she slithered out into some kind of open space. It was pitch black, and she couldn't tell how big it was, only that she couldn't feel the ceiling when she stretched her hand up.

There was a barrage of curses from behind her. Disorientated, she spun around and as she did heard something fall and clatter across the rocky floor. Ignoring Hook, she went down on hands and knees and felt around the floor in the dark. Her fingers brushed against something and she snatched it up with an exclamation of triumph. It was a lighter, which must have been in her pocket for weeks.

A tiny flame flickered to life in the darkness, but it was enough. She could see Hook, trying to claw his way out of the tunnel. He had one arm through, but his shoulders seemed to have become stuck. She flicked the lighter off and put it back in her pocket before reaching out until she felt his arm. She grabbed it with both hands and tugged with all her strength. He didn't budge. She began to laugh hysterically, the tears running down her cheeks.

'It's like that time Pooh Bear got stuck in Rabbit's house,' she gasped, 'and he had to stay there until he lost enough weight to squeeze out.'

'Were it left up to me,' Hook hissed, 'you would be locked up. You are clearly mad.'

She wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve and commenced pulling again. One minute he was stuck and the next minute he came slithering out, the suddenness sending Cassandra toppling backwards.

'Can't breathe,' Cassandra gasped out, 'you're. Crushing. Me.'

He rolled off her and lay there breathing hard, apparently rendered speechless. Cassandra shoved him hard with her left foot. You're still on my let and its going dead. Get off.' He shifted his weight and she scrambled to her feet, feeling for the wall. She pulled out the lighter and in the dim light surveyed their surroundings. They were in some kind of cave, small, but with a high ceiling. The only way out seemed to be another opening in the rock, this one slightly larger just higher than she could reach. She nudged Hook, 'do you think we can fit through there?' she asked, 'because I don't think going back is much of an option.'

Hook got up slowly, rubbing his shoulder. He looked up, 'it appears to be a little wider,' he said sceptically, I know it leads to a higher cave with access to the open air. We discovered it years ago and I sent one of my men through to see where it went, I must say he was a scrawny fellow though.'

There was a hollow rushing sounds from inside the other tunnel, then another, water began to trickle out of the tunnel and into the cave. The rushing sound became louder and water began to splash in, it had barely been minutes and now it was up to their ankles.

'You'll have to give me a shove, I can't reach,' Cassandra said trying to ignore the water which crept menacingly higher.

He boosted her up and gripping the edge of the opening she pulled herself in. It was wide enough for her to crawl on hands and knees and sloped gradually upwards. She held the lighter out so Hook could see and with a grunt, he hoisted himself up. She didn't know how long they made their way through the second passage, it grew tighter at intervals and she began to worry they would become stuck again, or the tide would rise high enough to catch them. But eventually, she felt a blessed wisp of fresh sea breeze brush against her face. A few more metres and she tumbled out into an open space.

They seemed to be in one of the caves which made up the 'eyes' of the skull. From this vantage point, she could see a wide expanse of ocean and in the far distance, the Jolly Roger.

She walked over to the cave's mouth, where a small rocky stairway lead upwards to the craggy top of the rock, and carefully peered over the edge. 'Oh no,' she said.

'What now,' Hook said from behind her. Cassandra jerked in surprise. 'Stop doing that,' she scolded, clutching her chest, 'you nearly gave me a heart-attack. Why must you creep up on people like that?'

Hook ignored her, stepping forwards and peering over the edge.

'I think the crocodile ate our boat.'

'It does appear that way,' he said crossing his arms.

Cassandra whistled, 'there's hardly a piece bigger than a matchstick left. So now what? Is anyone going to come looking if we don't come back.'

'The crew will mount some kind of search party when it recedes again. They would be far too afraid to leave me here. Various members of the crew have tried to maroon me in the past, but let us just say the results were not in their favour. Even when the tide goes down, it may still be some time. No doubt, they will spend an inordinate amount of time agonising about what would arouse my temper more, interrupting me while I am about my business or leaving me stranded.'

'Well them, I supposes we're stuck for the time being.'

'You led me to believe you possessed an unusual talent for escaping.'

'I don't have my bag, my tools, anything. All I have,' she said, rummaging around in her pocket, 'is this bar of chocolate and the lighter, which might be helpful if we had anything to burn…which we don't.' She shoved them back into her pocket, 'I'm going up to the top, are you coming?'

They sat near the edge, watching the Jolly Roger. It was too far away for them to make out any distinguishable figures on deck.

'Chocolate?' Cassandra asked, snapping of a piece.

Hook raised an eyebrow, 'how did you fashion it into that strange little brick with the metal wrappings?'

'Magic, now try a piece. It's good, unless you're allergic to peanuts in this case.'

Time past as they sat in silence. Eventually, Cassandra shrugged off her jacket, rolled it into a ball and lay down. The ground was uncomfortable, but she was exhausted enough, both from the morning's exertions and a lack of sleep over the past few days, to ignore it and drifted off to sleep.

The next thing she was aware of, was the sensation of being awoken by someone shaking her. She smacked at their hand and tried to roll back over, but they wouldn't stop.

Disorientated, she jerked upright. 'What…where…'

'Boats are coming,' Hook said, 'in addition to this, the sun seems to have burned your skin, quite badly I might add.'

Cassandra groaned.

They watched as the boats – three of them, drew closer. As they neared the rock, Cassandra could make out voices. Someone was calling out, 'ahoy, is anyone there. Captain are you ashore?'

'We're here,' she yelled back, waving her hands in the air.

There was a scraping sound and a large splash followed by a bevy of yells and curses. A barrage of shots rang out and then silence.

Cassandra scampered down the stairway to get a better look. Down below, one of the boats seemed to have been torn in half, and there was at least one boat floating in the water. Several sailors were swimming frantically towards shore, and the occupants of the other two boast were frozen in place, firearms pointed at the water. 'What's going on,' she called down.

One of the men swivelled his head to stare up at her. 'Hurry,' he hissed, 'it's gone, but it's bound to be back.'

Cassandra nodded and ran back up. 'How do we get down?'

As it turned out, there was a small path leading around the back of the rock, back down to the place where the boats were waiting. As they neared the bottom, the crew began yelling at them to hurry, gesturing wildly. The second they were safely in one of the boats, the crew began to row frantically back towards the ship.

'What happened down here?' Cassandra asked.

'It was waiting for us,' a grim faced pirate replied, 'I don't know where it came from, but it ripped the boat apart. Some of the shots must have found it because it disappeared.'

The journey back to the ship was fraught with tension. Hook flinched with every bump of the boat, his eyes darting backwards and forwards. The ship grew closer, and the tension caught up in Cassandra's shoulders began to slowly release.

Then, out of nowhere something collided violently with the bottom of the boat. There were exclamations of terror as over the side a gigantic scaly tale slid back under the water and disappeared.

'Row faster, damn you,' Hook bellowed, brandishing a pistol, 'any man who fails to pull his weight will be tossed over the side to assuage the beast's appetite.'

The sailors rowed furiously, to a man as white as sheets, the veins standing out in their foreheads as they strained to pull even further ahead.

There was another crash, and the boat almost toppled over. A crack was opening up in the bottom of the boat, and water began to force its way in. The other boat seemed to be faring little better, it was rocking backwards and forwards and several of the mean were screaming in terror.

The water was rising and despite their progress, it seemed that they might sink before they reached the ship. Cassandra snatched up a bucket and began to bail furiously.

The crocodile erupted out of the water in front of it, throwing up a mighty spray of water, Hook swore and emptied his pistol into the creature. He hurled the spent firearm into the bottom of the boat and snatching another from one of the pirates fired again. The crocodile let out a deafening roar and sunk back under the surface, blood staining the water.

'Row,' Hook yelled, 'the beast is not finished.'

The boat was sinking rapidly and its crew beginning to panic. Cassandra realised, that they were not only afraid of the crocodile, many of them would probably drown before the beast could find them. They were metres away now, but the water was almost up to their knees. Hook practically launched himself at the ladder hanging over the side of the ship and was up and over edge in barely seconds. The rest of the crew were pushing and shoving each other to climb on-board before the boat disappeared under the water.

By the time the last man has scrambled aboard, Cassandra was almost treading water. There was a ripple from behind them, the men in the second boat began to cry out, screaming at her to hurry up. She hauled herself up the ladder, jerking her legs up inches away from the snapping jaws of the seemingly indestructible crocodile. This prey having been denied it, the crocodile turned back towards the other boat. An unfortunate soul was tossed overboard by his crew-mates. This strategy apparently worked to their advantage. While the crocodile pounced on the struggling man, they managed reach the ship and scramble aboard.

Cassandra's legs gave out and she sat down to avoid falling. Hook gave her a strange look and wordlessly stalked away to his cabin, slamming the door behind him.

'I wouldn't follow him miss,' Smee said 'I've seen that mood before. He'll be on the drink already and he won't stop until he's roaring drunk.'

Cassandra began to giggle hysterically.

'Are you alright miss?' Smee asked worriedly, 'you seem overwrought.'

'I'm fine,' she said, 'I almost died, and I'm covered in blood and sunburn and it nearly ate me whole, but I'm fiinnne.'

'Let me fix you a cup of tea,' Smee said, coaxing her to her feet, 'you'll feel more like yourself with a nice hot cup of tea inside you.'

Half an hour later, Cassandra stood in her cabin tentatively dabbing at her face with a damp cloth. The sunburn almost hurt more than when she had been clawed by the mermaids. She slathered her skin with aloe vera cream. She couldn't believe her stupidity for falling asleep in the open, in the middle of the day. The longer she was here, the more she slipped up and that was bad for business, especially the business of her continued survival.

At least, the actual plan itself had gone off flawlessly. The boy had escaped, presumably believing it all down to his low cunning and devious nature, and was doubtless already back in his lair feeding Peter Pan the information he had 'overheard.' Now, it was only a matter of putting the next stage into action once night had fallen. Considering Smee's assessment of Hook's mood, she supposed she would have to oversee proceedings herself.

 _ **A/N:**_ _I've had a busy few months of studying for law exams, but now I've finally finished university for the year. It feels good to be back to writing again. If there are any inconsistencies or changes in the quality of writing, it's probably because I am a little rusty. My recent literary endeavours having been limited to writing out endless case summaries and a particularly troublesome anthropology essay on conflict and resolution in relation to contemporary borders._

 _Four months of holidays lie ahead, and hopefully more chapters more often. It feels great to have finished my second year of university. Fingers-crossed I pass everything and actually get into my second year of law, (I need a B+ average, which is a lot harder than it sounds), but for now, freedom!_

 _As always thanks for reading and please leave a review, it makes my little author heart happy to hear your thoughts, be they positive, negative or completely indifferent._


	16. Chapter 16 - The Ambush

The night was almost spent. At mermaid lagoon, the beach was illuminated by the light of a waning moon, aided by the flickering of a handful of long torches, planted in the sand at intervals. Men worked above the high-tide lines, aware that everything must be finished before morning light. They carried this all out with quiet efficiency, learnt from years spent at sea under the command of an exacting captain.

The crew had dwindled down to just over a dozen men, no new castaways having arrived to swell their ranks. Most were present on the beach, but The Captain was not among their number. In fact, Cassandra had not laid eyes on him since his return, and presumably he was still engaged in the business of drinking away his various sorrows. A few others had also remained to man the guns in the event of surprise attack.

The journey from ship to shore, though of reasonably short duration had been fraught with a palpable tension. After the earlier salvo of attacks by the crocodile they were understandably weary. But despite this lingering fear, the best did not rear its head. The trip was uneventful, save for a momentary glimpse of a shimmering tail fin dipping below the water, a reminder that there were other dangers lurking in those cold, still waters.

They had been working since dusk fell. The Captain being absent, Cassandra had taken it upon herself to lead the work party. She had expected more resistance to her leadership, but the crew, if not exactly bursting with enthusiasm at least cooperated without argument.

She stood now at the bottom of a pit, her shirt sleeves rolled up past the elbow, shovelling sand into a large bucket. It was hot work, but the night breeze drifting in from the ocean lent a welcome chill to the otherwise warm air. Gentleman Starkey poked his head over the edge and called down to her, 'if work has been completed to your satisfaction down there miss, then I will instigate the upwards trajectory of the bucket.' Cassandra surveyed her work and then nodded. He pulled the bucket up, grunting a little as he dragged it over the edge.

Cassandra waited and then handed the shovel up to Starkey before clambering up the crude ladder propped up against the side of the pit.

'Progress report?'

'Well miss, we have completed work to your specifications. The tents have been erected just as you said and the other preparations have also been taken care of. I myself supervised while you were undertaking the construction of the pit.'

'Excellent, Starkey. Help me cover this would you. She pulled up the ladder and they carefully laid out crisscrossing branches and palm fronds across the pit. Over this they brushed sand, covering the branches so that the spot appeared no different than the rest of the beach. Cassandra laid out a seemingly random scatter of rocks in the ground beside the edge of the pit, marking it out for future reference. It would be pleasant irony, she thought, if she managed to catch one of them in the very same kind of trap which had almost proved her downfall when she had run for her life through the forest.

Just as Starkey had assured her, tents had sprung up all around. The beach showed all the signs of habitation. A small portion of the immediate forest had even been cleared away, giving the appearance that an assault against the trees had already begun. It looked for all the world like a perfectly ordinary work camp.

The preparations having been completed, they all laid down their tools and congregated in the centre of the camp. A great mound of driftwood had been collected, and this bonfire was set ablaze. They fanned the flames until it burned hot and high, the glow stretching out for miles, a beacon in the darkness. Cassandra fancied they would see it as far away as the settlement, where it would probably cause no end of speculation. If the Lost Boy's tale had not yet reached his comrades, then this at least was bound to attract their attention.

Cassandra sat cross-legged in the sand, passing a handful of the soft white grains from palm to palm as she stared into the flames. She hoped the Lost Boy had found his way back and passed on the false information. She was counting on whatever was left of Patrick Dean Walters to be too preoccupied by the slight to his reputation to think clearly. Even before he decided to become a homicidal madman, he had a narcissistic streak. She had been a little concerned that they would mobilise too early and would arrive in time to see them setting their trap. However, being in essence a band of pre-adolescent boys, she had assumed there would no doubt be war paint and some kind of fireside battle council to be conducted before any actual action was taken.

Dawn was only a few short hours away when Cassandra and a few of the men decided to return to the ship. She had slept for most of the previous afternoon, so while tired she was not exhausted, but she still needed to collect her belongings. Against Smee's somewhat concerned advice and nervous hovering, Cassandra entered Hook's cabin to rouse him.

To her surprise, she did not find him as she had expected, namely sprawled somewhere, black-out drunk. Rather, he was propped up in the chair beside his desk flicking through a book. As she entered, he raised his head to look at her. He appeared completely sober, his eyes were clear and alert and there was not so much as whiff of rum in the air. There was something strange in his gaze, but she dismissed it. After all, the man had come a hairsbreadth away from being hideously devoured just hours before.

'We've finished on the beach,' she said, 'I thought you might be…sleeping so I left you, but I've come to tell you we're ready…on the beach I mean.'

'Thank you for returning to inform me,' he said with a smile, 'pray excuse me while I prepare myself for the day's excursions, I will be but a moment.'

'Of course, nothing might happen today at all,' Cassandra added as she turned to leave, 'but I think we should be ready in case it does. Well, I'll be waiting for you on deck.'

'Oh, Miss Haversham,' Hook said.

'Yes.'

'I must say, I commend you for all your efforts. I have no doubt you will soon reap fully the rewards of your labour.'

'Thank…you…' Cassandra said a little awkwardly. She had never seen the Captain in such an agreeable mood. Perhaps having saved his life had wrought some kind of change in their relationship. She supposed that kind of thing did tend to bring people closer together. She gave him a small smile and backed her way out of the door.

The sun was just rising above the horizon, bathing the deck in a pale golden light. The sea was blue and sparkled where the sunbeams reflected off the water. It was a perfect day, both for what was possibly her last day in Neverland, or if all went poorly, her last day on earth. Whatever the outcome, she could take heart in the fact that she would never again lay eyes on this deceptively idyllic hell again.

Hook was true to his word and emerged out on deck within a quarter of an hour. His coat was crimson and of a particularly fine cut, his hat similarly impressive. A pair of leather straps crossed over an embroidered waistcoat, in which were tucked two braces of pistols. A cutlass hung by his side, and his hook had been sharpened to an especially lethal point. He cut an especially fine figure, but Cassandra couldn't help but wonder if the whole outfit wasn't a little impractical.

She had already packed everything she owned back into her satchel. If luck smiled upon her for once and the plan carried through, she would have no time to retrieve anything.

Gentleman Starkey, who seemed to have warmed to her since their initial encounter had offered her a pistol, but she had elected not to carry it. She appreciated the gesture but did not particularly wish to kill a child regardless of how dangerous they might be. She did not have the same scruples when it came to a spot of light maiming however, and had a canister of pepper spray and an extendable baton in her pocket in case of an emergency. She hoped that these would suffice, but if worst came to worst, there was still the knife she kept tucked away in her boot.

Hook was silent throughout the journey. His eyes never left the water, and his hand never left the hilt of his cutlass. Looking over the side Cassandra could see faint shapes moving about under the water. At one point, one of them surfaced and floated alongside for a while staring at her. The crew remained tense long after the mermaid had blown them a cheeky kiss and swum away,

Not far away, the Lost Boys had gathered. They waited within the fringes of deep forest, milling about. They amused themselves by kicking at loose branches, scuffling with one another and boasting about their pirate killing prowess.

'I'll kill the most pirates damn your eyes,' a knife was brandished to bolster the effect.

'You're a dirty liar. None better than me than sending them down to old Davy Jones!'

'Am not a liar. I'm the greatest hunter that ever there was. Even better than the Injun braves, I've killed more pirates than you and you know it!'

'Liar.'

'Coward.'

'Girl.'

'I dare you to say that again!'

The argument was interrupted by a shrill whistle from overhead. Down through the leaves drifted that immortal boy in tattered green. He came to a rest in the middle of the group, hands on hips, feet apart, and eyes full of mocking humour. He was followed by another boy, who landed with a thump, cutting a far less impressive figure.

'Well boys are you ready for some fun,' Pan said.

'YES!' a chorus of gleeful voices replied.

Pan's ferrety second in command piped up. 'Let's go and catch ourselves an old codfish then. They're camped out on the beach, I seen the codfish himself coming ashore, all primped up, lace and all. They think they can clear out the forest. We'll show then we're not afraid of their tricks!'

They boys let out a cacophony of howls and whoops and bloodthirsty battle-cries before taking to the skies led by Pan. They floated low, weaving silently in and out of the trees, malicious enjoyment written large across their features.

As they reached the edge of the forest they paused, hovering just above the trees. They saw a camp laid out. Several large trees had been felled, and were lying there in the sand, axes still embedded in the wood. A large campfire, the smoke of which they had glimpsed rising into the air the previous night lay in the centre. By now, it had died down to embers. A few figures were lying prone about it, with bottles strewn all around.

The boys looked at each other with glee, it would be an ambush, each of them expected to kill his share of pirates before the hour was spent. Whether they fully understood the consequences of killing or whether it was more of a game to them is debatable, but Pan at least understood and did not attempt to enlighten them further. They pulled out their various weapons, knives and crude axes for the most part, and swooped down on the sleeping figures below, howling out their war chant.

It all happened too quickly for them to have time to react. All at once, the figures sleeping around the fire were on their feet, weapons in hand. Men sprung from the tents, pulling up nets and ropes which had been hidden under the sand, causing many of the boys to lose their footing, only to have sacks and nets tossed over their heads trapping them. Others, confused and forgetting their happy thoughts pursued pirates on foot only to find the ground disappearing below their feet as they fell through into pits in the ground. By the time the last few boys had gathered their wits and flown away, most of the band were trapped, including Pan himself. As it turned out, there had indeed been an ambush.

Peter Pan writhed under a net, men straining to hold it down as he bucked and scrabbled and fought. For his size, he was inhumanly strong.

Cassandra almost let out a howl of delight. This was it, they had done it and at long last she could go home, back to modern conveniences and her flat and being able to sleep without worrying your throat would be slashed during the night. Goodbye Island, goodbye pirates, hello indoor plumbing. As she darted forwards an enormous grin lighting up her face she was filled with the kind of elation usually reserved for winning the lottery. Freedom was so close she could almost feel it, and it felt good.

Strong hands wrapped around her arms and she was hauled backwards. Cassandra froze for a moment in utter disbelief, but only for a moment. She struggled furiously, but there were too many of them. She kicked and clawed and bit, but to no avail, she could not escape.

Hook, strolled towards her, clapping his hands slowly. 'Brava, brava, Miss Haversham that was nicely done. I complement you on a cunning plan, well executed down to the last detail. Well, almost the last detail, but even the brightest minds often fail to account for the obvious.'

'What in the name of sanity do you think you are doing,' Cassandra yelled at him. He ignored her, turning to face the boy.

'Finally,' he said, 'I have you in my power. I have dreamed of this moment. It has been the one thing which has carried me through this neverending torture of an existence, the one shining light in an otherwise bleak and meaningless existence. Now this happy day has arrived, there only remains the small matter of what to do with you. I suppose, I could hack off your hand as a blood payment for my own suffering. Or I could gut you with my hook and toss you to the very beast to which you fed my hand. Or, I could give you her. From what I have been made privy to, going back to wherever it is you came from is hardly going to provide you with much cause for rejoicing.'

The thing which looked like a boy lay still now, his eyes glowing with hatred. Hook smiled a particularly malevolent smile. 'But I don't think any of those options, no matter how tempting they might be, would be particularly sporting. And I am, if nothing else, a gentleman. I intend to give you a fair fight – to the death of course. To the winner the spoils to the looser a trip into that wide and mysterious beyond. If I do see fit to set you free,' The Captain said to the boy, 'do I have your word of honour that you will abide by the terms of our agreement – a fair fight according to the rules of sportsmanship. Do we have an accord?'

The boy smiled back at him, flashing curiously white teeth, 'I Peter Pan do solemnly swear upon my honour,' it said.

Cassandra struggled harder. 'Don't do it,' she pleaded. 'You can't trust him. I don't know what you think is going to happen, but please, I'm begging you don't let him go. Kill him if you must, but don't let him go!'

Hook sneered and walked over to her.

'You have been most useful tome Miss Haversham, I doubt I could have reached this moment without you aid. But, do you really suppose I intended to let simply you take the boy and leave after the blood I have shed, the men I have lost, the hell I have endured. I was using you my dear, from the very moment you proposed your little alliance, and you fell for it like a charm. Tsk, tsk I really did think more of you.'

'How was I to know anyone could ever be such a monumental idiot,' she hissed.

'Never fear, you are not entirely useless to me now. I shall find some…use for you. I have no doubt after a few weeks in the brig on prisoner's rations the prospect of lending me your company may seem less onerous to you. You may even,' he said leaning closer and stroking his hook down the side of her face, his eyes glistening with evil delight, 'come to like me in time.'

Cassandra flinched but did not look away, her glare defiant. 'You are making a huge mistake,' she said through gritted teeth, 'I only hope you live long enough to regret it.'

He gave her one last smirk and turned, gesturing to the men pinning down the net. 'Set him free.'

The net was lifted.

In the split second before he flew away, Pan turned his piercing gaze onto Cassandra and spoke the words from her dream, the words which try as she might she was unable to forget. 'You'll bleed before the end.'

Then he was gone, twisting away like a fallen leaf caught up on the breeze.

Realising too late that he had been deceived Hook launched himself at the boy, his fingertips missing the boy's ankle by a hairs-breadth.

Cassandra was shaking with rage. 'What did you expect to happen you bloody fool,' she screamed, her face crimson with anger, 'that he would stand there and fight you like a gentleman. He's gone and we'll never get him again. Do you understand what you've done you preening idiot. Why couldn't you just kill him!'

'Take her back to the ship with the others,' Hook said his voice crackling with ice. He turned and stalked away.

Cassandra was tied up, her captors earning a fine selection of scratches for their troubles, and tossed unceremoniously in the bottom of a row boat along with a number of the Lost Boys. They glared and hissed at her, but there was nothing that they or she could do to escape their bonds, so eventually the boys fell silent.

Her anger had begun to drain away, to be replaced by a kind of numbing weariness. To have come so close and have it all taken away like that. She could have kicked herself. She had trusted him. She had trusted him and this was her reward. She should have known too, especially after he had started to behave in such a cordial fashion. She had counted too much for his rationality without really knowing the man at all, and that had been her undoing.

Cassandra knew now that she would never leave. Someday her bones would lie here somewhere unburied and forgotten, just like Wendy's and years might pass. Decades, centuries would fly by, but eventually another poor soul would be dragged here by that signal and the whole thing would begin again.

As the boats were pushed off, and they began the journey back to the ship, she wondered if death might not actually be preferable.

 _ **A/N:**_ _Well I promised quicker updates and so far so good._

 _Here in New Zealand we have had not one, not two but three major natural disasters in one week. First there was the earthquake. That was fun. I was sitting in bed reading at around midnight and suddenly the ground commenced to shake with extreme violence, much screaming and running around ensued._

 _Two days after that we had the floods. My house suddenly became a river-side property and both the pumps designed to prevent our garage flooding decided to die at the same time. I spent the morning unblocking said pumps, trying to get the water out of the garage, sandbagging the driveway so the aforementioned river did not divert its course into our driveway and then wading across the knee deep water to see if our neighbours across the street were still alive. The day after that, there was a tornado a mere ¾ of an hour away from my house. So yeah it was an eventful week._

 _I have a plan for the next chapter, so all going well that should be up in a week or so. Enjoy._

 _As always reviews are greatly appreciated._


	17. Chapter 17 - Aftermath

Cassandra was tossed unceremoniously onto the deck, still trussed up and seething with righteous anger. The earlier numbness had melted away, and now she was back to being spectacularly furious again. The other captives were, as tradition demands, tied to the mast.

She lay there, her cheek pressed against the rough boards, waiting. But, nothing happened. She rolled over onto her side and craned her neck around. Everyone seemed to be milling around further down the deck and none of them seemed to be looking in her direction. Hook stalked backwards and forwards, yelling, as the crew scrambled to carry out whatever orders he had issued. She twisted her neck further and glanced up at the sky, it was powder blue, but in the distance a small grey cloud was drifting closer.

Cassandra squirmed about, kicking her legs up behind her and wriggling until her finger-tips brushed against the tops of her boots. She wiggled a little more, straining to reach the knife concealed in her boot. Her fingers were stretching to gain purchase on the hilt when she was suddenly jerked upwards with a squeak of surprise.

One of the men responsible for dragging her up into a vertical position bent down and sliced through the ropes tying her legs together, but left her hands bound behind her back. They dragged her, boot heels scrabbling against the deck, towards where Hook was pacing.

She struggled violently, managing to land several solid hits on the shorter one's shins in the process. He let out a string of colourful expletives, but continued to haul her inexorably forward, albeit with a slight limp. After the taller one's right foot had been stamped on repeatedly, they seemed to come to a mutual agreement of defeat and sent her stumbling the rest of the way forward with a forceful shove between the shoulder blades.

She tripped but managed to regain her balance in time to avoid toppling face-forward onto Hook's boots. Something, which would have been humiliation heaped on top of defeat. It probably would have killed her, and then her vengeful ghost would have found its way back into this vale of tears and killed him.

'You piece of trash,' she said bitterly, 'I never trusted you, but I least trusted your sense of self-preservation. How could you do this after I saved your life? Yeah, I saved your life jerk. Remember the crocodile. Well, I wish I'd let it eat you!'

Hook snarled at her. He was furious, angrier than she had ever seen him, and was clearly stinging from the results of his own lapse in judgement. He knew he had made a terrible mistake and the resulting insecurity made him extremely dangerous.

'My actions are not yours to question, wench. You, were the perfidious schemer, the mistress of deceit. You made excellent use of me from the first. Yes, as soon as I had helped you to snare the boy, you would have absconded. And, where would that have left me. Allow me to enlighten you. It would have left me trapped, without even a hope of escape, doomed to spend all eternity in this festering pit of Hades. I would rather have the satisfaction of slaying the creature myself. In fact, to the knowledge that you too will be trapped her forever is a balm on my sorrow?'

'But you didn't kill him, did you,' she shrieked, 'you couldn't even do that, YOU LET HIM GO! Why would you think he has even a shred of honour left in that blackened heart of his? What am I talking about, _left…_ you can't have something _left_ that you never had in the first place. A principle which I might add, clearly applies to your intelligence, or in this case, lack thereof.'

'I will not tolerate being spoken to in such a fashion by you,' he snapped back, 'in case you had forgotten, you are my prisoner, and it would serve you well to avoid antagonising me. Your life lies in my hands Miss Haversham.'

'I would rather die than stay here with you after what you've done. And you can think again if you think I would ever come to remotely tolerate you after this. You, are repulsive and I would rather pitch myself over the side than sleep with you, which, is what I presume you have been trying to insinuate since I got here. Do you hear me? I WOULD RATHER DIE!' her voice rose to a shrill pitch which threatened to tip over into something akin to hysteria.

'I would be more than happy to arrange it,' Hook said, stepping menacingly forward, his eyes flashing with red fire.

'I will kick you,' Cassandra said, 'I have nothing to lose and I kick hard, you bastard.'

With predator-like speed, his hand darted out and grabbed a fistful of her collar dragging her close, his hook a cold pressure under her ribcage. His face was inches from hers as he spoke, his voice low and dangerous, 'I could cut your throat and watch the life drain from your eyes right here on this deck, and not a soul would raise a finger to prevent it. On this vessel, my word is law. I am law. You will learn to mind your tongue or you will suffer. Time is less than an illusion here and I have an eternity to break your spirit if need be.'

The wind increased in intensity, brushing his hair against her face. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the grey cloud, it had grown bigger and darker, and it was creeping closer with every passing second.

Since there was really nowhere else to look when she was speaking to him, she looked at his face. He had the bluest eyes she had ever seen. The kind of eyes which, in any other time and place and with any other man, she might have lost herself in, never to resurface. But, since there was no escaping the particular man to which they belonged, she chose to ignore their icy brilliance with relative ease.

'You know,' she said, her voice cool and amused in a rather fatalistic kind of way, 'none of this really matters, because we're all going to be really dead before you have time to make good on any of those charming little threats.'

He glared down at her, his breath whispering against her hair, his fingers still pressed painfully against her neck as he clenched the fistful of shirt tighter, pulling her upwards until she was almost forced to stand on tiptoe.

'Think about it,' she continued, 'we caught him once so he won't risk it happening again. You can bet your bottom dollar he's coming for us. It would have been far too easy to kill us there on the beach, but he won't just let us get away either. He's always had a thing for twisted little games.'

Hook narrowed his eyes, 'should he choose to make some kind of assault, we will be more than prepared. I captured over half of his band, he has nothing left.'

'Sure, well, I'll remind you of that when we're both dead, it will give our ghosts something to do besides haunting the living. Now, please untie me, I'd rather have a fighting chance for survival.'

'I am dreadfully afraid that nothing of the sort will be happening my dear. You, are destined for the brig, unless my cabin suddenly seems like a more charming prospect.'

'Shut up and listen. Something is wrong here. Have you looked up at the sky recently?'

He shoved back a fraction and looked up. The grey clouds had turned black and were now rolling in in great sheets. The wind whistled across the deck, tickling them with icy fingers.

'A storm is brewing,' he said with the smallest hint of doubt in his voice, 'this ship has weathered many a squall and this is no exception, it's bound to blow over without cause for worry.'

'I'm no expert, but I've been watching it for the last fifteen minutes, and it's coming in pretty fast with no sign of letting up, don't you think you should do something about it?'

His eyes darted from her face, up to the sky and back. 'I will deal with you when the storm has passed,' he hissed and released her. He turned to shout orders at the crew, 'prepare the vessel for a storm. Batten down the hatches, shorten sail and set the storm jib.'

The wind was whipping up the water, sending an icy spray across the rolling deck. Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra caught a flash of movement from behind her. She turned to see the mast, empty, ropes lying slashed to pieces on the ground around it. The Lost Boys had vanished, as if into the ether, their broken bonds the only memorial of their presence.

'Hook,' she called, backing slowly away from the mast.

She scanned the rigging with trepidation. The sails were a pale banner against the darkening sky, billowing in the wind. A shadow passed by, and then another. 'Hook,' she called louder, a note of desperation entering her voice.

Hook was suddenly beside her. 'They're gone,' she said, 'they're all gone. He's here.'

He looked at the mast and then his eyes were drawn up to where she was staring. He cursed and pulled out his pistol. 'To arms men,' he yelled, 'defend the ship.'

There was a tearing sound as one of the sails was slashed from top to bottom. Through the rent floated Peter Pan, his mouth curved into a smile. He drifted slowly down, a glowing spark of a fairy fluttering around his shoulders. Hook raised his pistol and fired, but the boy had already darted to the side, his laugh ringing out across the ship.

'Untie me,' Cassandra hissed frantically.

Pan put his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle, boys swarmed out from behind the sails grinning manically, their eyes gleaming with delighted hate.

'Defend the ship,' Hook roared again, firing his pistol for a second time. The bullet thudded into the shoulder of one of the boys. He let out a scream and fell back.

Shots rang out, echoed by the clap of distant thunder.

There was a scream and the sound of a body thudding against the deck.

Shouting. The clash of metal. Feet pounding across the deck. The splinter of wood and the spark of gunpowder.

Cassandra stood at the fringe of the melee, dodging flying debris and yelling at whoever would listen to 'bloody untie me,' or 'so help me I will hurt you worse than they are.'

Smee scurried up behind her and cut through the ropes, 'don't tell The Captain,' he said anxiously, 'but I don't think it's right for a body to die like this.'

A bullet whistled past her ear and she bit out an exclamation before diving for cover behind the mast. She crouched there, watching the fray. Something seemed more than a little strange. So far, none of the pirates had been killed, or mortally wounded. Three of the Lost Boys were lying dead, or wounded on the deck, but while bloody, battered and more than a little worse for wear, all of the pirates were still on their feet. It was almost as if the Lost Boys were trying to wear them out.

There was another whistle, and as quickly as they had descended the Lost Boys were gone. Cassandra scrambled cautiously back to her feet, peering around the mast.

There was the barest whisper of a sound from behind her, and she felt an icy chill trickle its way down her spine. She whirled around and to her horror he was there. A demonic smile lit up his youthful face as he floated a few inches off the ground, watching her.

'What do you think of my storm Cassandra?' he said.

She took a step backwards, 'how are you doing this?'

'Unimportant. I could have killed you when that fool let me go, but where's the fun in that? The interesting thing about pirates, is that most of them can't swim. I know you can, but we'll see how well you manage with only one useful leg.'

Cassandra jerked back, reaching for her knife, but she wasn't fast enough. He plunged his dagger deep into the fleshy part of her thigh and twisted it. Then, quick as lightning he pulled it out and was spinning up and away into the darkening skies, the sound of his laughter caught up and spiralled about by the wind, so that it seemed to echo around her from every direction.

There was no pain yet, only a kind of pressure, like someone had punched her. It was as if her brain refused to recognise that she had actually been stabbed at all. She fumbled for her knife and sliced off a strip of fabric from the bottom of her skirt. She wound it around the wound and tied the ends as tightly as she could manage. Blood began to discolour the fabric, but it was the best she could do for now.

As she limped across the deck, her leg began to tingle. Then, came the heat, blossoming out from around the wound until it had entwined itself around her leg. She had been stabbed before, years ago, so she knew that once the adrenaline began to wear off, the pain would be debilitating.

The charcoal skies opened, and the rain came crashing down on them, great sheets of it, soaking everyone to the skin in seconds. Thunder crashed all around as the growing waves began to toss the ship around like a toy.

'Where are the boats?' she yelled at Starkey over the noise of the storm.

Hook was nowhere to be seen, Smee too was missing. The men, now leaderless had gathered around Starkey, who had apparently been designated as the de facto captain. By the way he carried himself, it was likely that he had a broken or at least fractured rib, and was bleeding from a long slash which ran the length of his left cheek.

'They cut them,' he said grimly, 'all of them.'

'Can you swim?' she asked, 'can any of you swim?'

There was a general mumbling and shaking of heads.

Starkey shrugged his shoulders, 'not more than one or two among us, and even them, not well enough to make it to land in these conditions.'

'Bloody pirates, hundreds of years, and you can't even learn something as basic as…'

Her words were cut short as a huge wave came crashing over the side of the ship. It washed Cassandra off her feet and towards the now shattered railing. Starkey threw out his hand and grabbed her wrist, hanging onto the rope ladder leading from the deck to the crow's nest with the other. She hung onto his arm for dear life as the water rushed over the side. Around her, the rest of the crew clung onto whatever they could find to avoid being swept away into the churning ocean.

As the deck cleared, she struggled to her feet, almost collapsing as she put weight onto her injured leg. She coughed up a burning lungful of salt water and swiped away the hair which was plastered against her face, obscuring her vision.

'Where's The Captain?' she spluttered.

Starkey shook his head, worry suffusing his whole demeanour 'he vanished, I know not where. We were engaged in defensive manoeuvres and then quick as they had descended, the writhing spawn of hell's blackn'd maw were gone, and there was nought to be seen of Captain or First Mate.'

'Is there anything we can do to make the ship more likely to weather the storm in one piece? Hook said something about battening down the hatches?'

'They attacked before we could make the vessel ready for a storm. If the waves continue to strike us with such continued vigour, I fear we may be swamped. If they increase in intensity, the ship may break apart. If providence is on our side, we will pass through this without being carried down to The Locker, but I fear Lady Luck does not smile on us this day.'

'I don't suppose you have life-jackets, anything?'

'What?'

'Forget it. Have you seen my satchel? I think I might have an inflatable raft left.'

The look on his face answered her before his words did, 'it was in one of the rowboats.'

There came a roaring, rushing sound which began to grow in volume. The turned to see a colossal wave rolling down to meet them. As it crashed over the ship with incredible force, Cassandra clutched onto Starkey's jacket and he wrapped an arm around her waist and they clung there as water sucked dragged their feet out from under them. The force was enormous, and as it washed through, a loud crack issued forth from the mast. It tilted slowly to one side, and with one more hit, it would probably topple over.

'It's going to sink us,' Cassandra choked out, 'when it does, try and grab onto something, anything that will float and don't let go.'

Something belowdecks must have breached because the deck began to lean, the timbers creaking and groaning. Another wave was building. They could see it in the distance. As it towered above the ship like a great mountain, Cassandra's leg buckled underneath her and she collapsed onto her knees.

The wave fell.

Cassandra closed her eyes.

She hit the water, the sheer power of the wave pushing her further and further below the surface. As she sunk, she looked up through the water and saw the hull of the ship above her. She saw the crew around her, their flailing limbs creating streams of bubbles as they struggled to reach the surface, she saw a cloud of blood from her leg stain the water around her. The moment was strangely peaceful. She wondered what it would be like if she kept sinking, how long it would take before her lungs became so starved of oxygen that she tried to breathe, and how long after that until she felt nothing at all.

Then, she realised the pirates weren't the only shapes in the water. A pair of hands grabbed her waist from behind and she was propelled upwards towards the surface. She gasped, breathing deeply the cool sea air. Beside her bobbed a head with blonde hair and flawless porcelain skin. Slim but strong arms held her up.

'Are you alright?' the mermaid asked.

Cassandra nodded, the shell necklace which still hung around her neck felt strangely warm.

'I will carry you to shore,' the mermaid said, 'we are not the only inhabitants of these waters and your blood will draw others in, so we must hurry.'

Cassandra looked around nervously, half expecting to see a grey fin cutting through the water, or an enormous tentacle reaching for her leg, but she saw only an expanse water and the occasional floundering pirate. Nevertheless she offered her hasty agreement.

'Hold your breath,' the mermaid said before diving back under the water a tight grip on Cassandra's waist.

With several dozen flicks of the creature's powerful tail they had reached shallower waters. Cassandra tried to stand, but her leg wouldn't hold her weight and she collapsed, falling back under the water. The mermaid dragged her back up and pushed her forward until she could drag herself up onto dry land without standing.

She looked around to see other bedraggled survivors pulling themselves from the water and lying limply on the beach.

'Look,' the mermaid said happily, 'we saved your friends. We only drowned three, it was such fun, we wanted to drown them all, but you need friends,' she patted Cassandra's head.

'Thanks, I think,' Cassandra said, still sitting in water up to her waist more than a little bemused.

'Goodbye,' the mermaid sung out, giving her a cheerful wave as she slipped back under the water.

She sat there, fat drops of water dripping from her hair to create tiny ripples all around her. She stared out to sea, where she could see the ship listing heavily to one side as it began to slip beneath the surface. It was eerily similar to her dream. She could almost feel herself there, standing in the dark on the rotting deck of a half-submerged pirate ship. She shuddered, partly from the cold and shock and crawled out of the water.

She tried to stand up again, and an electric jolt of pure white hot pain coursed through her leg driving all other thoughts from her brain. Then everything faded into black and mercifully she felt nothing at all for a long while.

 _ **A/N:**_ _Poor Cassandra, I'm really a terrible author to do such horrible things to her, but it's not going to get a whole lot better anytime soon. I got all the information about being stabbed from the internet, thankfully I have not been stabbed, so I had to rely on Google for hopefully semi-accurate information._

 _As always, thanks for reading and don't forget to leave a review._


	18. Chapter 18 - The Cove

Cassandra was dragged violently back into a state of consciousness by the pain which radiated from ankle to hip. She was lying on the sand, her head propped up on an extremely damp lump of fabric. She must have made some kind of audible sound, most likely something along the lines of arrrnnggh, because Starkey was suddenly at her side, his expression concerned.

'How do you fare Miss?' he asked, 'I pulled you from the water when you fainted. But, with the quantity of blood issuing forth from your body I feared you might expire. I bandaged up the cut, nice and neat but, I was not sure what else could be done in the circumstances, we have no thread, nor needles either.'

Cassandra struggled to sit up, but her leg seemed to be on fire and she felt woozy, no doubt from the blood loss, so she could not quite manage it. Starkey grasped her elbow and helped to pull her carefully up into something resembling an upright position. She looked around groggily. The mermaids seemed to have brought them to some kind of cove or small inlet. It was almost completely surrounded by craggy walls of stone, with a small gap which seemed to lead out into the larger portion of the bay. Overhead, the sky was brimming with dark clouds but at least the rain had stopped. Although, the sand, just like almost everything else, was still damp.

Aside from herself and Starkey, she counted nine men on the beach, huddled around a tiny sputtering fire. They were in various states of health, exhibiting all manner of scratches, scrapes and still oozing cuts. By morning there wouldn't be a soul among them without a colourful array of bruises. The fire was under the overhang of one of the rocky cliffs, presumably in part to protect the wounded from the notoriously fickle elements and in part to avoid letting the smoke give away their position so easily.

'I imagine I will live to see another day,' she managed to get out, despite an uncomfortably dry mouth. She frowned, 'how did you get to shore?' she asked. 'I remember something but I'm not sure if it was dream.'

'It was the mermaids. Sly she-devils that they are, never have I seen them save a drowning sailor. These waters are death to all who dare enter, and yet here we are. I do not suppose you know why this strange phenomenon has occurred?'

Cassandra decided to keep the story about the magic necklace under wraps for the present, 'maybe, they have some reason to despise Pan as much as we do,' she said, 'maybe they helped us in the hopes that we might do something for them in the future.'

Starkey considered this and shrugged his shoulders. 'Who can say. I have neither trust nor love for the creatures, but I am grateful to still be breathing. All of us, including you Miss, with that leg, came very close to taking up permenant residence old Davey Jones' Locker today.'

'I wish you would stop calling me Miss, I'm pretty sure going through a shipwreck together allows us to drop the more formal titles. You can call me Cassandra, or Cass, if you prefer.'

Starkey gave her the kind of look which signified he intended to continue calling her Miss for the foreseeable future, but that he appreciated the gesture. 'I will ensure you have a spot of privacy so you may attend to your injuries in a more thorough manner.' He got to his feet and walked over to the other side of the fire.

Cassandra looked down at the leg stretched out in front of her, dreading what she might find lurking beneath several layers of bandages. It was a can of worms she would prefer not to open, but there was really no other option, unless she desperately wished to succumb blood-loss or septicaemia.

She rolled back the hem of her skirt to reveal a study in various shades of drying blood. There were bright splashes of crimson, dark reds, copper tones and flaking brown. It would have made rather a fascinating picture, were it not for the fact that those colours had, only an hour or so before, been coursing through her veins – the blood cells doing their part to keep the fragile human machine running.  
The men were staring conspicuously at any direction that was not her – the cliff, the ground, the darkening sky. Starkey was glaring at them each in turn, his hand casually wrapped around the hilt of his knife.

Cassandra wrinkled her nose and picked at the knot securing the ends of the stained bandage together. She began to carefully unwind it, gritting her teeth against the pain which flared up with every hint of friction. When it finally came away, her breath caught in her throat. The wound itself was wide, but worse than that, it was deep and messy with jagged edges. While the steady stream of blood had mostly stopped, it was still oozing a little.

She closed her eyes and leaned back, breathing deeply as she tried not to lose what little remained in her stomach. Leaving it in its current state was hardly an option, despite the fact that attempting to do anything to it would only exacerbate the pain. Without her satchel she had nothing. Well, not quite nothing but, the alternative was not pleasant. She would have liked to try and wash the wound first, but there was no water immediately to hand. While there was a whole ocean of the stuff several hundred metres away, she did not think she could make it that far at this stage, even with help.

For the second time that day, she stretched to reach her boot, her breath ragged as she tried not to move the injured leg. The knife was still there. She slid it out and stared at it for a while, considering her rather limited options. She came to a decision, namely the wound must be disinfected the old-fashioned way. In other words, the hideously painful way.

She leaned over, propping herself up on an elbow and held the blade of the knife out over the fire. She left it there, turning it slowly until the blade was almost white hot. Holding it carefully, she picked up a stick and clenched it between her teeth so she did not bite off her own tongue. The tiny grains of sand clinging to the wood felt strange in her mouth. She tried not to let her hand shake as she brought the blade down to the opening of the wound.

When Cassandra came to again, she smelled the lingering aroma of singed flesh and promptly crumpled over and threw up. She did not do anything else for a long while because even trying to think hurt too much.

Eventually the fog of pain cleared enough for her brain to begin to manage coherent thought again. Her leg had been tidily re-bandaged and propped up again. Most of the blood was gone, and the knife was lying beside her in the sand, wiped clean and cold as a stone. She looked over at Starkey, who was still sitting across the fire, his face in shadow. He nodded at her and turned away.

Night had settled in by now, and the only light was the glow of the fire. Even the moon and stars seemed to be refusing to come out tonight. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of the waves against the beach and some even quieter, but more unsettling noises from the direction of the jungle.

She shifted over a little so that she would not roll into her own vomit and closed her eyes. Sleep was a haze of pain and barely remembered dreams, which floated around in her subconscious as she drifted in and out of awareness until, finally the black overcame everything.

Cassandra was woken by the sound of men arguing. She sat up too quickly and let out a yelp as her leg twinged with pain. Starkey was standing some distance away arguing with another member of the crew.

'But, he's our Captain,' the other man was saying angrily, 'and besides that, you've seen what happens to people who challenge his authority. I don't aim to end up like that.'

'His accursed pride is what led us to this misfortune,' Starkey argued, 'were it not for him, she would have taken the boy far from here. We would still have been trapped here, but we would have the ship and the island would have become an immeasurably safer place in which to carve out some kind of existence. Besides, what proof do we have that he still lives. Neither hide nor hair of him has been seen since the battle. At the best, he has abandoned us, at worse he has been devoured or drowned or met some other misfortune.'

'We're not backing you as Captain. Not till we know for sure at any rate. It ain't worth my life.'

'I am not suggesting that you back me for Captain, Higgins,' Starkey said running a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. 'I am merely suggesting that for the good of us all we put it to a vote. We should elect a new captain and be done with it. I have followed that man for longer than most men live. I was here before this island and even though he is temperamental, unpredictable and swift to anger I have never questioned his authority as Captain. But, this is a step too far, I wash my hands of him.'

'No. I've had a little talk with the lads and we ain't willing to risk it.'

'Captain James Hook is only one man, it is time we showed him that.'

'He's accursed and the devil's fire is in his eyes. I've seen him survive what no mortal should. I will not cross a man like that,' Higgins made a sign presumably intended to ward off evil and spat on the sand.

'On your head be it,' Starkey snapped and turned away, stalking off down the beach.

Cassandra watched him for a moment and then looked away to check her wound. Starkey seemed to have done a pretty decent job of cauterising it after she had passed out, presumably after screaming bloody murder. Her leg still hurt, but at least now it was more of a constant dull ache than the earlier stabbing agony.

She managed to half crawl, half drag herself over to where a large stick, sturdy in appearance and bleached white by the sun, was lying. She gripped it tightly, using it to lever herself up by putting weight onto the good leg and using the stick as a make-shift crutch.

She took a careful hopping step, and then another. She hobbled slowly along the beach. It was difficult, progress was slow and the pain was incessant, but she pushed through since getting back on her feet was somewhat of a priority. After all, since arriving here, she had done an awful lot of running, and most of it away from things which wanted to eat or otherwise kill her. For her continued chances of survival, she could not be perceived as the crippled gazelle in a savannah teaming with lions.

Since the day before there had been no sign of another living soul, Lost Boy or otherwise. She wondered if they knew that anyone had survived the shipwreck. Despite his uncanny control over certain aspects of the island, Pan had clearly not factored the mermaids into his equation. But why should he, considering their track record, he probably thought they would provide further help in sending the sailors to their deaths. It was a complete fluke that Cassandra had happened to spare one of their lives, providing her with an apparently magical necklace and some extremely unsettling new friends.

She paused to rest her leg and looked out to sea. The Jolly Roger had disappeared, presumably having sunk down to rest on the bottom of the ocean somewhere. Eventually, after the mermaids had picked it clean of anything remotely interesting, coral would grow around its bones and it would become just another part of the sea-floor.

She frowned, there was something else out there on the water. It was coming around the edge of the bay, and though still quite far away, it was obvious what it was.

'Boat,' one of the men called out, 'there's a boat coming.' The remaining crew sprang to attention. There was a general feeling of apprehension in the air. None of them had firearms, at least none that worked; the introduction of salt water to the internal mechanisms having rendered them useless. Any defensive manoeuvres would have to be undertaken with whatever knives they happened to have had attached to their person at the time of the shipwreck.

As the boat drew closer, two things became apparent rather quickly.

One: the occupants of the boat were none other than Smee, who was engaged in the actual business of rowing, and Hook, who wasn't.

Two: the boat itself was not exactly the typical wooden rowboat of the period. In fact, it looked suspiciously like one of her own inflatable vessels.

'Son of a…' she choked out.

As the boat reached the shore, Hook stepped out and walked onto the beach as if nothing at all had happened. To look at him, you would think he had just come from a garden party rather than a shipwreck. His attire was impeccable and showed no sign of having been immersed in salt water at any point in this lifetime.

This of course, was in stark contrast to the small group of survivors gathered on the beach. They were wounded and bruised, with black smudges below their eyes and tattered clothes, stained by both blood and salt water.

Hook looked them up and down with a critical gaze, his eye finally alighting on Cassandra.

'Miss Haversham,' he said, 'I see you survived the wreck.'

Cassandra stared at him, open-mouthed. She could not quite process what was happening. It seemed unreal. She looked at him, hoping he would disappear, but he did not and his mouth kept moving. Why was he still talking she wondered.

'Did you steal my boat,' she said almost calmly.

'I suppose you could say that I borrowed it in case of emergency, and very handy it turned out I must say.'

'So, you went through my bag,' she said, 'you betrayed me, you stole from me and then you left us all to die.'

'Prisoners forfeit any right to personal possessions, my dear. To the victor the spoils. Too bad I did not, at the time, consider keeping the bag. I must say, some of the items inside might have proved useful under the circumstances. But alas, it is now wherever the rowboats were carried away to during the storm.'

Something snapped deep inside her brain. She threw down her stick and launched herself at him, her eyes wild with anger.

Starkey darted forward and dragged her back before she could make contact. She struggled to reach him, hands clawing at the air, with the clear intention of gouging out his eyes if given the slightest chance. 'I'll kill you. You are a DEAD MAN!' she screamed, slamming her elbow into Starkey's chest as he tried to drag her further away.

Her injured leg gave out and she collapsed onto one knee. Starkey released her and she fell forward into the sand. 'Now Miss…' he started to say, but she was not listening. She scrabbled up and lunged forward again. Hook was not expecting it, and as her shoulder rammed forcefully into his knees he toppled over, landing with a heavy thump which knocked the air out of his lungs.

She planted her knee in the centre of his chest and punched him square in the jaw. She punched him again and was pulling her fist back a third time when she was jerked off him and hauled away, still tossing out threats, blood dripping from her grazed knuckles.

'Stop,' Starkey growled, 'it is for your own good. I cannot let you kill him, and hurting him will only make matters worse.'

Cassandra, thoroughly unimpressed by his intervention kicked him. Unfortunately between the two of them, the person who suffered the most from this action was herself. She felt tears well up in the corner of her eyes and went limp. He dropped her and she lay on the ground groaning softly.

About a hundred metres away Hook was in a similar position. The crew looked at them in bemused silence, surprised to see their Captain laid low in such a fashion, and perhaps more than a tiny bit pleased. None of them, except maybe some of the oldest crewmembers had seen his authority challenged in any material way. And those that had, had seen, and often cleaned up, the results first-hand.

Hook's eyes sprung open and he staggered to his feet, his hand pressed to his face. The crew scattered. Through her own pain, Cassandra wondered if she had broken his nose. She hoped so. At the very least, he would have a spectacular black eye. It was lucky for him really, that she had already lost a significant amount of blood in the last twenty-four hours. Otherwise, Starkey might not have been able to detach her quite so easily.

Blood was streaming from Hook's nose, already staining the neck of his snow-white shirt. Cassandra sat up and looked at her hands. Held them up. They were shaking and underneath the blood – half his, half hers, the skin was frighteningly pale. She felt heavy with exhaustion, but she was not sorry that she had hit him. In fact, it was one of the only things in the last twelve hours, which she did not regret happening. She leaned over, pulling the discarded stick close and got laboriously to her feet.

Starkey unobtrusively inserted himself into the space between Cassandra and the Captain, presumably with the intent of preventing an altercation.

'Captain,' he said carefully, 'few of us remain and we cannot afford to begin fighting amongst ourselves. We have no shelter, no supplies and few weapons.'

Hook turned his gaze onto the unfortunate sailor, 'out of my way,' he said coldly. Starkey blanched, 'Captain, please, I know you are angry…'

'Is this a challenge?' Hook asked.

Starkey stepped slowly to the side, he gave Cassandra an apologetic look as if to say, 'I tried, but you're on your own now chum.'

Hook did not move and neither did Cassandra. They watched each other for a tense minute, like two long-horn buck - assessing each other's antlers and sizing up their chance of defeating their opponent. Finally, Hook spoke.

'I dare say,' he said, dabbing at his nose with a long flourish of a handkerchief, 'that was to be expected.'

Cassandra was surprised. She assumed, not unreasonably that he would be furious. In fact, she had been perfectly ready to fight to the death right here on the beach like she was in some kind of melodramatic period piece. After all she had been through, dying here would be rather disappointing. Especially, after surviving a shipwreck. Infection might well kill her, something might slither out of the forest and kill her, Pan might even kill her, but she would be damned if she let _him_ kill her. So, despite her general unwillingness to go around killing people, it had been a very real option.

Silence.

'However do not assume that simply because your actions may have been justified, that I will let this slide. While I admire your tenacity and enterprise, I can hardly allow this challenge to my authority go unpunished. Unfortunately Miss Haversham, my men saw what you did and I cannot allow them to get ideas about repeating such a thing themselves.'

'Go on then,' Cassandra said, 'try me.'

'Oh, I do not intend to do anything at this moment, we have bigger fish to fry at present wouldn't you say. But, in the interests of fair play, I suggest you watch your back.'

Cassandra thought his use of the phrase 'fair play,' was completely ironic, but not in a fun way.

By mid-morning, debris from the shipwreck had begun to wash up on the beach. Hook ordered the men to collect anything that appeared useful in some way.

By early morning, aside from wooden planks, they had salvaged the following:

1 barrel of hardtack – (mostly dry, thoroughly disgusting, but better than eating your own fingers)  
3 canteens (useful for carrying water to wash down the hardtack)  
A chest full of what turned out to be clothing from Hook's Cabin  
2 bottles of rum (which were immediately taken into custody by Smee, allegedly to be preserved for medical emergencies)  
A broken oar (which Cassandra appropriated for service as a crutch)

Everything else was either splintered into extremely small pieces or rendered otherwise useless by the water.

By nightfall, they had a plan. Considering there was nothing behind them except for the ocean and nothing before them except for a thick tangle of jungle, filled with all manner of unnamed horrors, they grudgingly decided the only sensible option was to make tracks for the village. Sort of a frying pan vs fire situation.

Before this decision was reached there was initially heated argument among the surviving crew members. From what Cassandra could gather, they had attempted to lay siege to the village on more than one occasion, and it had not exactly gone entirely according to plan.

'How can we hope to overcome them with hardly any weapons and scarcely more men?'

'Then savages they are, they'll barbecue us alive before we can get within spitting distance.'

'Remember the last time. Ten men we lost. They even got Big Dan and he was worth ten when it came to a fight.'

At this point Cassandra broke in, 'here's a novel idea. How about instead of trying to attack them, enslave their women and lay waste to their homes, we could try a slightly more diplomatic approach. Like, I don't know, telling them what happened and asking them to take pity on us.'

'You can't bargain with savages.'

'The likes of them have no pity. They'll skin you soon as look at you.'

'One, the word savages is really inappropriate terminology. Two, I've met them and they're actually the only decent people I've come across on this whole bleedin island, Three, if anyone has a better plan I'd like to hear it, but I warn you, if that plan involves fighting anyone I will throw something at you.'

Hook, who had been sitting in a brooding silence until this point spoke up, 'we make for the village,' he said, 'although I am loathe to agree, it is true that we cannot fight the Indians, so perhaps we must join them. At least, for the meantime. In the morning we will gather whatever supplies we have and begin the journey. Judging from our position on the island it will take at least three days, maybe more.'

And that, was the end of it.

Later, the fire had all but died down, almost everyone was sleeping.

Cassandra felt the cold metal pressed against her throat. She opened her eyes to see a dark shape looming over her, knees pressed into the sand on either side of her waist.

'I suspecting that something like this might happen,' she said quietly. The figure let out a grunt as she increased pressure on the knife which, was currently a thrust way from becoming intimately acquainted with his spleen.

'Touché, Miss Haversham,' his voice was liquid darkness.

'How about you and I call some kind of truce. After the stunt you pulled I would be an idiot to underestimate your arrogant stupidity, and I will certainly never trust you. But, wouldn't it be nice if we could get through the forest of death without having to worry about yet another thing which might kill us?'

He seemed to be thinking. The pressure against her sides changed as he shifted his weight. Finally, the hook was pulled away from her throat.

'There will be a reckoning of some kind between you and I, but you have my word as a gentlemen that I will not harm you, unless of course you should make the first move, until we have passed through the forest. After that…' his words trailed off.

'Oh, I'm counting on it,' Cassandra said, removing he knife but keeping it in her hand, 'and for the record, I went easy on you, you had far worse than that coming for what you did.'

There was a rustle and a scuff of sand and she was alone in the cavernous night.

 _ **A/N:**_ _This chapter would have been finished sooner, but I had a wisdom tooth out this week, which was just about as fun as it sounds, and it turns out I don't write well when half my face is numb._

 _As always, I appreciate everyone taking time to read. Don't forget to leave me a review. Do you have any thoughts about where the plot is going? What character is your favourite? Which character would you like to push into a volcano?_


	19. Chapter 19 - Worse

The morning was grey and cold, stretched thin at the edges. A thick fog had drifted in, its thick tendrils worming their way deep into the cove. By the time the last of them woke up, the fog had faded away into the atmosphere, but it had left behind a dampness which clung to the skin.

It was for this reason, that Cassandra did not notice the beads of sweat which had formed across her flesh while she slept. Even if she had, things would probably not have turned out much differently.

Cassandra ate alone, her back to the cliff as she mulled over the events of the previous week or so. Something had been bothering her, especially since the shipwreck. She had been doing more or less the same job for the equivalent of several hundred years, ergo, she should be better at it. And the thing was, she usually was. Okay, she had never been employee of the month, but supervisors described her as perfectly capable.

The day she had arrived, she had been perfectly confident in her ability to overcome whatever the mission might throw at her. But, it seemed like very subsequent day she had spent here was slowly but surely draining away her self-assurance. It had happened so gradually that she had not seen it clearly until now. She was normally sure of herself, she did not scare easily, she worked well under pressure and even found danger exciting. It was like there was something in the air, something which needled out all your insecurities and unravelled them, pulling them to the surface until you could barely recognise yourself.

'Get it together girl,' she muttered under her breath, 'you're better than this.'

Her train of self-analysis was interrupted by Starkey. 'Catch,' he said, tossing a loosely folded bundle of fabric at her. She snatched it out of the air and unfolded it. It was a coat, long enough to reach well past her knees, and made of a rich, dark blue velvet.

'This looks like it belongs to Hook,' she said, examining it.

'The Captain was generous enough to divide the contents of the chest among the crew,' replied Starkey, 'I thought a warmer coat might be of some help.'

Before she could thank him, he had turned and walked away.

It really was a beautiful coat, it seemed a waste to ruin it really, but then again, it seemed an awful waste to freeze to death as well, so that seemed to even out in the end.

The beach disappearing behind them, as they themselves disappeared into the trees, bore few signs of their presence. Save for the scattered ashes of the fire it was as if they had never been there at all. And soon, even these small traces would be dispelled by the wind.

The spaces between the trees were wide at first, making their passage easy. However, as they progressed further, the foliage began to press in closer, seemingly folding inwards on them.

This proved especially troublesome for Cassandra. Her leg had hardly improved and was still refusing to support her full weight. She was forced to limp along with a crutch for support. She was slow, almost trailing behind as she moved carefully over the uneven and often spongey ground. Several times she came dangerously close to turning her ankle, which would have left her virtually immobilised.

The Captain, who has not spoken to her since the night before, led the procession, navigating ahead with the aid of his compass. She had seen him earlier, the skin around one of his eyes was a puffy, dark purplish-red and the bridge of his nose was bruised. While her own knuckles were scrapped and had manifested their own bruising, 'you shoulda seen the other guy,' seemed like an apt observation.

It was quiet in the forest…jungle…whatever this was. Occasionally, they would hear a rustle of branches from somewhere close by, and once Cassandra thought she heard a sort of snuffling whine from deeper within the trees, but aside from those few hints they might not be entirely alone, there was no material evidence of any other living thing.

Around midday her strength began to flag. Not only did the wound itself hurt, but her joints had also started to ache and she felt hot and then cold again at intervals. She stumbled over a patch of uneven ground and would have fallen if Smee had not appeared at her elbow to steady her.

'How are you faring missy? he asked.

'I've been better,' she said as she limped forward.

'Are you sure you can manage?' He looked up at her face with concern; it was grey and pinched. He was almost surprised that she had made it this far. He knew she had been wounded in the fight before the shipwreck, and Starkey had described the wound to him. Many a man would have been laid low by such an injury.

'I'm not really sure of anything,' she shrugged, 'but we can hardly stop on my account, we still have a distance to go, and it isn't going to get any easier.'

'At least let me help you along a little way,' Smee said, taking her arm before she could protest.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Smee and Starkey took turns walking with her at the back of the line. They had come to a mutual agreement to keep an eye on her. Someone had to after all, Smee thought. He felt some sense of fatherly concern for her, she seemed like a nice young thing. Though, he supposed, she wasn't quite as youthful as she looked – there was something about her eyes.

On her part, Cassandra appreciated the gesture, but was somewhat furious at her own weakness. It was hardly a comforting notion: realising that you are the frailest link in the chain. But, considering she could barely walk on her own and running was completely off the table, it was an inescapable reality.

They walked until just before dusk, stopping only to rest only a handful of times, and never for long. It was hard to tell exactly what time of day it was, this deep into the forest. But, when the shadows began to lengthen, Hook called a halt. They made camp not far away from a small stream, which bubbled away back towards the ocean, its water clear and cold.

Two of the men disappeared for nearly an hour, only to return with two fish apiece, which they had apparently managed to catch using only their hands. A small fire was built and the fish cooked over the coals. Each person only received a small portion, but it was a welcome change from the frankly disgusting hardtack.

After the meal Smee insisted on taking a look at Cassandra's wound. She agreed with minimal protest because she was growing increasingly concerned. As the day had progressed, the ache in her joints had worsened and the pain in her leg grew deeper.

He slowly peeled back the stained bandage, layer by layer. As the wound came into view Cassandra's heart sunk and Smee made a small tut-tutting sound in the back of his throat. The flesh surrounding it was an angry red, and it was swollen, not terribly, but enough to notice. Smee adjusted his glasses and carefully pressed his finger to the skin. Cassandra gritted her teeth, letting out a hiss of pain.

'The skin feels hot to touch,' Smee said, 'but at least corruption has not set in. You did something to clean it?'

'I burned it,' Cassandra said, 'with a hot knife. Well, at least I did some of it. Starkey finished after I passed out.'

Smee shook his head, 'it looks like ye might be developing an infection. If we don't put a stop to that now, the leg might be lost, or worse.'

He produced a bottle from deep within his jacket and held it out to her. 'Take a good deep draught of this,' he said.

She eyed it with suspicion, but shrugged and raised it to her lips, taking a swig. The liquid burned a fiery trail down her throat and she coughed. 'That's some pretty strong rum,' she said, handing it back.

Smee looked at her apologetically, 'I'm afraid this is going to hurt,' she said.

Cassandra closed her eyes, 'just do it.'

The pain of course, was excruciating. It felt almost exactly as if her entire leg had been set on fire. Her fingers clawed into the ground as she tried not to scream. It hurt almost as much as the knife, only this time, she was conscious for all of it. She managed not to scream outright, but her breath was ragged and she let out a choking whine.

'I warned you,' Smee said as he re-bandaged the wound.

Cassandra thought longingly of her satchel with all its lovely, high-tech, medical supplies. She even had antibiotic shots in there. As she had done frequently since meeting him, she cursed Hook for dragging her into this situation.

The forest around them grew darker. The fire was kept burning, there was a plentiful supply of available wood all around them after all. True, it might alert whatever was out there to their presence, but the flames might also keep the shadows at bay. As Cassandra lay down to sleep, using the coat as a blanket, the men on watch walked around, planting crude torches in the ground at intervals, surrounding the camp with a ring of fire. She saw Hook, watching her from across the flames. His gaze was steady, but not menacing. The firelight flickered across his features, playing across the planes of his face, lending an almost skeletal air to his appearance. He saw that she had noticed him and tipped his hat at her mockingly. She rolled over and shut her eyes.

The night passed without incident. Cassandra drifted in and out of consciousness, her mind felt hazy and strange. There were several times when she jerked awake suddenly, her heart pounding and the unshakable feeling that she had not been breathing properly.

But, when the light finally bean to push its way down through the trees, they collectively came to the horrifying realisation that the night had not passed so uneventfully after all. One of the sleeping figures did not move with the others. They left him for time, his coat pulled up over his head, but after half an hour when they were ready to move on, there was still no sign that he was awake. Higgins gave him an impatient shove with the toe of his boot. There was a strange shifting sound and the figure seemed to deflate. Higgins reached down and yanked away the coat. He let out a curse and dropped the coat, stepping hurriedly backwards.

The others gathered around fuelled by curiosity.

'Well, I'll be damned,' Starkey whistled.

The unfortunate man had not been sleeping, at least, it was not a slumber from which he would ever wake. His bones lay in a clutter, picked clean and nary a scrap of flesh on them. His clothes were barely disturbed, there was no blood or any other signs that the bones weren't years or even decades old.

'Who stood last watch? Hook growled, 'Evans was on the second to last watch, so it must have been those last men who allowed this to happen. This is either incompetence or some kind of farce. If it is the latter, those responsible will pay dearly.'

Two men reluctantly shuffled forward.

'We didn't see nothing Captain, honest.'

'Lie to me again and it will be the last words which fall from your lips. You must have fallen asleep on your watch.'

The other man placed his hand on his chest, 'hand on heart and I swear it on my sainted mother's grave, it ain't so. I never even closed my eyes, and neither did he.'

'And we didn't see anything, hear nothing neither. Last I saw of Evans he was alive and kicking.'

Hook's face was unreadable. 'We move on,' he said finally, 'leave the bones, there is no time to bury them. Watch is doubled tonight, I want at least four on watch at all times.'

So, they continued on, their number reduced by one already. The day was even worse for Cassandra. Even though it was still chilly, as the sunlight only found its way through in small patches, not enough to create heat under the leaves, she was sweating badly. By noon, she was shaking so much she could barely walk.

When they stopped for something, which possessed only a passing resemblance to a meal, she looked at her leg. The bandage was stiff and when it finally came away, a small piece of spongy, pallid-grey flesh came with it. In dazed horror she looked down at her leg to see that lurid red streaks were radiating away from the wound. And the gash itself, it was wider and she did not even want to think about all the different colours she could see.

Dimly, she supposed she should do something about it, but her jumbled brain could not quite figure out what this should be. The thought faded away as soon as she started to see the strange shapes dancing around at the corner of her eye.

Smee had been watching her. He had truly begun to worry the night before, when he had first seen those red streaks trailing away from the gash. He had asked Starkey about it, thinking that perhaps he had not cleaned the wound out properly, but that was not the case. Starkey assured him that he had in fact done a proper job on it and he did not see how this could be his fault.

When he had been on watch, he had glanced over at her ever so often, watching as she tossed and turned, muttering incoherent phrases. Once, she had sat bolt upright, drenched in sweat, her eyes glassy and vacant.

He had continued to watch as she had stumbled along, losing momentum as the day progressed. After they had stopped for their second break, she seemed to become increasingly paranoid. As they walked, she would suddenly jerk her head to look behind them. He was not sure what she was seeing or thought she could see, but there was never anything there.

After a while he asked her about it, but she only mumbled something about how 'it was following them,' and when he pressed her she seemed confused and claimed not to remember saying anything.

When he noticed that her eyes were beginning to lose their focus he attempted to keep up a conversation, but she had stopped replying, except for occasional fractured bursts which made little sense.

Despite her dazed and uncommunicative state, she was still moving forward, but it was as if she was doing it out of habit, like a machine who repeats the same tasks over and over with no actual thought process. And then all at once, she was not. She stood very still for a moment and then tipped bonelessly forward.

He darted in front of her and caught her over his shoulder before she could hit the ground. She stayed there, limply. He pushed her back into a standing position and examined her. She was still conscious, well, at least she was not unconscious. But, her eyes were glassed over and her expression was vacant.

Her eyes seemed to focus on him for a second and she frowned, 'there's something behind you,' she said before letting out a small groan, her head flopping forward.

Smee felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle up as he craned his neck to look behind. There was nothing there, but still, he could not help but feel uneasy.

'Captain,' he called, hoisting her up higher as she slipped forward.

'Be so good as to inform me, Mr Smee,' Hook said impatiently, as he walked towards the back of the small procession, 'why we have stopped.'

'She's in an awful bad way,' Smee said.

Hook leaned forward and gripped Cassandra's chin, tilting her head up. Her eyes were unfocused and she did not seem to be aware of his presence. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowed. He removed his hand, letting her head drop back down again.

'Captain…' Smee said.

'We cannot afford to remain here until she recovers, or as seems more probable dies. This forest is dangerous, we still do not know what happened to Evans, and we cannot remain here for any longer than necessary. I do not suppose she can walk at all?'

'I don't know,' Smee shrugged, 'she barely looks conscious. She doesn't look like she could stay on her feet even with help.'

The other men were growing agitated, the morning's discovery had left them jumpy and they were anxious to move on.

'Make a stretcher,' Hook ordered, 'two men at a time will carry her in shifts.' He walked away, leaving Smee and Starkey to carry out his bidding. Smee had half expected The Captain to order she be left behind but, though he tried not to show it, Hook had actually seemed…something approaching concerned. Smee suspected that somewhere deep in the blacked hunk of flesh, which in other men might be called a heart, there nestled the smallest sliver of guilt about what he had done to her.

Working quickly, they hacked off two long, sturdy branches. Making use of their coats, they fashioned a makeshift stretcher. It was haphazard, but looked as if it would hold her weight.

As the rest of their party began to leave, they rolled Cassandra onto the stretcher and heaved it up. She briefly thrashed around, but fell still again, one arm hanging over the edge. Her breathing was shallow but steady and perspiration rolled off her forehead.

By the time they made camp again that night, Cassandra had regained some degree of awareness. She was more lucid, but was unable to remember anything of what had transpired during the day.

Her head pounded, and she felt hot and cold all over. Starkey helped her to a sitting position, propped up against a tree.

She looked around confused, the trees were swaying, the leaves rustling as they whispered to her. The colours were so bright that they hurt her eyes, but behind the colours was a crushing darkness which echoed away into oblivion. There were things in that darkness, things she could feel and hear but were just out of sight.

A voice reverberated through her head, she winced, 'can you hear me,' it was saying, 'you need to drink something.'

She nodded her head drunkenly. Something was pressed into her hands, she held it, not quite sure what to do. Strong fingers gripped her wrists and pulled it up to her lips. She felt something trickle past her lips and down her throat. In a brief moment of clarity the world shifted back into focus and she saw Starkey crouching in front of her.

'My leg,' she said, her voice cracking, 'it's worse isn't it.'

He nodded.

She shook her head, trying to push away the mist which was trickling back into her mind, 'I don't remember… have I been…strange?'

Starkey placed the back of his hand against her forehead, 'you have been seeing things,' he said, 'things that are not there.'

'Don't want to die. Need…to fix…leg,' she breathed.

Things were slipping through the foliage in front of her. Watching from behind the trees. She tried to call out to them but her voice would not come. The girl in the tattered blue dress, the one who had been following her all day was back, her eyes were hollow and her face sad.

Another figure stepped out from the trees. It had red hair which hung listlessly around her shoulders. Her face was drained of colour, except for her smile, which was deep and red and stretched from ear to ear, the flesh hanging open as flashes of teeth glistened through.

'Who are you?' she whispered.

The first girl gave her a small sad smile, 'you already know,' the white teeth clattered as the bone began to crumple down into a jumbled pile. The other girl grinned at her, 'run little rabbit, run,' she hissed, 'don't let it end this way for us.'

There was a crashing-cracking sound. The trees swayed and jerked and the branches snapped and twisted as a stream of bodies exploded from the trees, obscuring the girl from view.

The thing leading them was both Peter Pan and Patrick Walters at the same time, his face shifting grotesquely from man to boy, the features melting into each other. He laughed, the sound so loud that it clashed deep in her head. 'Ready to die little girl,' he asked, 'you already seem half in the grave, how long until you let go?'

'Keep her quiet,' Hook was growling. The girl was jerking around on the ground, her pupils dilated and she screamed, over and over, 'he's here, can't you see him.' Smee pulled her back up into a sitting position and shook her shoulder 'it's alright miss,' he said, 'no one here but us.'

The Captain clapped his hand over her mouth and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, holding tightly, his wrist at an angle so she would not impale herself on his hook. She struggled and then fell silent and still.

He looked at her, but when she remained quiet, he pulled his hand away and tipped back on his heels. Her head flopped down and she tipped over until her forehead was resting on her knees. Her shoulders began to shake.

'Is she laughing,' Hook said in mild disbelief.

Cassandra raised her head slowly, 'I can see them all,' she said. She was crying, or something like it, the tears trickling silently down her cheeks.

Hook swore viciously.

The tears which ran down her cheeks were red as blood.

'Who stabbed her,' he asked no-one in particular, 'was it Pan?'

'I believe so,' Starkey said, 'I only caught a glimpse but if it was not him, he has a shadow able to manipulate solid objects.'

Cassandra raised her hand to her face, frowning as her fingers touched bloody tears. She pulled her hand back and stared at it.

Hook knelt down next to her and examined her eyes. She jerked as he touched her face and planted her hand squarely on his chest. 'Can't go back, can't go forward, where does that leave us,' she said.

Her hand dropped back down onto her lap, leaving a smudgy red smear on his chest.

'Do you remember,' Hook said to Smee, 'the unfortunate incident which robbed me of my hand?'

'Of course I do Captain.'

'And do you remember the fever I nursed for a fortnight after?'

Smee nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes.

'It was after that your eyes…they started to turn, well, red.'

Hook smiled grimly, 'as with everything he does, it was not enough to hurt me, his knife was poisoned. Only, I was lucky. The blow sliced straight through and the blood washed the stump clean, dispelling most of the foul poison. But she,' he gestured at Cassandra, 'was not so lucky, the wound is deep, the poison is in her blood now.'

'What can we do?'

'There's nothing we can do,' he said grimly, 'we must continue on, if she dies before we reach the village we will have to leave her behind. If she lives that long, they may be able to help her in some way.'

He looked down at her, 'in the meantime, cut away the dead flesh and burn the corruption, it might stay the spread…for now.'

 _ **A/N:**_ _Dun, dun, will she die, will she live, stay tuned to find out._

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	20. Chapter 20 - Sensory Overload

She ran through the trees, not sure where she was going, only that she had to escape. Wherever she turned, a wall of fire seemed to rise up in front of her. The crackling flames licked at her skin as the sparks danced overhead, like beautiful but deadly fireflies.

'She's a burning up,' Smee said, holding the back of his hand to her forehead.

The shadows danced around her as the fire cast them in every direction, they seemed almost alive. The other girl was there with her – hair as red as the fire which surrounded them, her skin a pale smudge and her mouth a scarlet slash. Cassandra could not tell whether she was stalking her or walking with her. She supposed it did not really matter.

She tried a new direction, but the fire sprung up before her, cutting her off. She turned around but every way was blocked.

'None of this is real ya know, just stop running, it's getting old.'

'Would you quit following me,' Cassandra said, crossing her arms and glaring at herself.

'No can do,' she grinned. It was unsettling, the way the skin curled back almost to her ears, 'might as well ask your shadow to pack up and find a new place of residence.'

'Okaaay then, are you me, or do you just look like me? Are you my conscience or something, cos if you are, you really need to step up your game!'

'Eww, I'm not your conscience, do I look like I'm someone's conscience? Look doll, I'm mad you don't stab more people more often. If it were up to me, we'd be some kind of badass assassin.' She shrugged, 'I could be the accumulation of all the memories you think you've forgotten, or maybe I'm your darker and much cooler side, or maybe the knife was poisoned and I'm just a hallucination conjured up by your brain in an attempt to deal with the sensory overload.'

'Okay, but for real, what happened to the face? Please, please tell me I don't have a Glasgow smile. Man, that would put a huge damper on what passes for my social life.'

'It could be something that's going to happen in the future, or it might reflect the frustration you feel regarding your inability to communicate with the outside world. But like, realistically, maybe you should stop watching Hannibal after 9pm.'

'Am I really this annoying in real life? I mean I know I tend towards sarcasm, but is this what talking to me really feels like?'

'Probably not, but you make up for that by being much more pathetic. If I was in charge we would have been promoted ages ago, you need to step it up girl.'

'Wait…am I, are we…dead?'

'Dying for sure. I mean, I don't think a healthy leg's supposed to look like that. Picasso would have a field day with those colours, and you're sweating like a pig.'

'How do I fix it? I know I went through kind of a morbid patch, but I really do NOT want to die right now.'

'You can't do anything, stupid. You're unconscious, the fever is turning your brain into soup and you're hallucinating wildly. You only sound coherent in your head, in reality you're a dribbling mess right now. Don't you just hate it that you're completely dependent on the guy who totally screwed all your plans?'

'So basically what you're saying is, I'm super close to kicking it and the only thing standing between me and the other side is a dwindling bunch of morally ambiguous pirates with a troubling streak of idiocy?'

'Damn straight. Anyway, this is boring. I'm stuck here with you as long as you're doing this lame dying crap, and let's be honest you're not exactly most exciting company . So, we might as well talk about something interesting. How about your incredible underperformance at work, or oh, I know, that little crush you got on The Captain. He may be a colossal jerk, but dayyyum the man is fine!'

'Uh-uh, we are so not going there. Nope, nooo waay. You are so wrong I can't even. And I am not underperforming. I do just fine thanks. Anyway I don't have to justify anything to you.'

'Denial much.'

Starkey shook his head sadly, 'this bodes ill. I have seen the like from men on their deathbed. Close to the end, they begin to converse with people who do not exist in any physical sense.'

Smee nodded, 'when I cleaned the wound I could see clear down to the bone. The fever may take her before the corruption has a chance to stop her heart.'

'I do not cheat at cards,' Cassandra mumbled, her arm flailing.

'Pick her up and we press on,' Hook said, 'I cannot shake the feeling that some kind of evil is stalking our steps, I would prefer we did not spend another night in the open.'

'You lying…liar,' Cassandra sputtered, 'I never saw him before in my life, it's hardly my fault they found the head on the next-door patio.' She paused, 'are you crazy, I would never say that, celery is like the food of the devil.'

'Who do you suppose she thinks she's talking to?' Smee said.

'I suppose we shall never know,' Starkey said, 'but whomsoever it may be, it seems she bears them no small degree of animosity.'

Despite Hook's best intentions to reach the village, nightfall found them still within the jungle. Towards evening Hook had sent one of the men clambering up a tree. He reported that he had seen the village in the distance, but the ground was too great to traverse in what remained of the day.

The trek had been difficult, as the underbrush had been particularly tangled and claw-like that day. They had fought their way through, but the brush fought back, and they gained many lacerations for their troubles. The terrain had also become increasingly unpredictable. At more than one point, they had been forced to slide their way down the side of a steep incline, dislodging stones and clumps of soil along the way.

As they had trudged their way through an area where they forest had become flooded, the trees turning white around them as they died, one of the men had let out a yelp of pain and reached down to clutch at his leg.

'Something bit me,' he swore.

One of his companions laughed harshly, 'the air is thick with mosquitos,' he said, swiping one away, 'what the devil do you expect.'

'I never yet a mosquito which hunted under water!'

Half an hour later he was dead. As they left him, he had lain on the ground still twitching, face twisted into a hideous grin. His leg had swelled up to three times its natural size and a thick black liquid was oozing out from between his clenched teeth.

When they eventually made camp, Cassandra experienced a moment of lucidity, which were growing increasingly far apart. She felt so very hot, and every part of her hurt. She had not thought it possible for something like an eyelash to ache, but they did, terribly.

She opened her eyes, which were heavy and almost glued shut by the red liquid which had been trickling from her tear-ducts at intervals during the day. She blinked, the harsh fire-light hurting her eyes. Dimly, she saw hook watching her, but then her vision began to swim and his face was replaced by that of a wolf – grinning at her with rows of needle-sharp teeth. And then, the whole thing had begun to melt as her other-self laughed at her from behind him.

'Stop playing with my mind,' she said angrily.

'I'm not playing with anything, I'm only along for the ride.'

'I don't even know what's real anymore. I don't want to die like this.'

'Well, all those spiders were us, and the flyig rat-bird things. Oh, and the bendy trees and a bunch of other sutff, but not that really hungry looking thing which you saw following us. That's real. On the upside, it might eat you before you have a chance to cark it on your own, so who says there isn't a silver lining.'

Cassandra groaned, 'do they know its following us?'

'Hook suspects something, but the world's a funny old thing, so you're the only one who's actually seen it. Isn't it a shame you can't tell anyone. You're too out of it to even hear the crunchy sounds their bones will make. Anyway, I think he's got a thing for you.'

'What, the creepy teeth-monster has a what for me!'

'No silly, Hook does. The other thing just wants to eat the marrow out of your bones.'

'You're high, he tried to kill me.'

'Nah-uh, he totally betrayed you, but he hasn't actually tried to off you. It would be almost cute if it weren't so creepery. Ohh, you could have your own Dateline episode, _Stalked by the Sailor_ or maybe _Betrayal: Lust and Murder on the High Seas._ Can we just talk about how Lester Holt is always leaning on stuff, what's up with that?'

'Please, will you just let me die in peace!'

'I could but we all know I won't.'

As night fell, the apprehension in the air was palpable. The shadows crept closer, pressing in on them. They sat around the fire in silence, sending the occasional furtive glance out into the dark beyond the fire. There were noises out there in the trees. Subtle, shifting sounds, the rustle of leaves, the light swish of branches pushed to the side. And then, nothing.

Eventually, man by man, they began to settle down for the night, reassuring themselves that it was nothing more than a breeze or some harmless animal, like a deer.

All at once, Higgins sat up, he had been lying on his side, face away from the fire, staring off into the darkness. 'What in the name of Hades is that,' he said, 'I can see something out…'

His words tailed off into an agonised scream as he was yanked into the darkness, fingers clawing uselessly at the ground. Whatever took him moved too fast to be identified. The screams continued, only to be cut off abruptly, replaced by a wet, crunching sound.

No-one dared to go after him. Terror lending them speed, they lit a ring of fire around the camp, huddling together the few weapons they had at the ready. No-one slept easy that night. Every so often, they would hear rather than see the things which slunk around the camp, keeping to the shadows. If it were not for the fire, Smee suspected, there would have been much more than Higgins on the menu that night.

As morning light began to filter down towards them, a collective sigh of relief was breathed. Well, at least, by all but one. A lone figure remained slumped over on the stump which he had been using as a seat, his chin resting on his fist. His eyes were open, but there was no sign he either saw or heard. He certainly did not react when his name was called out.

Starkey grasped his shoulder and shook it. The man did not move at first.

Cassandra slouched on the ground against a tree. She opened her eyes groggily, and watched as a man began to cry black tears. There was only a slow trickle at first, as they seemed to crawl out of the corner of his eye. The trickle turned into a flood and spread out across his face. She mumbled something about hallucinating as her eyes drifted shut again.

The pirates watched in horror as the black ants spewed out of the dead man's eyes, ears, mouth, nose…they coursed down his body in a seething black mass. As they began to spread out across the ground, the men retreated, stumbling backwards in their haste to escape the voracious insects. They were crawling over the forest floor, straight for Cassandra, who chose that moment to open her eyes again.

She began to scream and tried to scramble away, but only made it a few inches before her eyes rolled back into their sockets and she collapsed.

Amidst the pandemonium and the general running and screaming and 'I'm too young to die's, Hook growled, turned back, scooped Cassandra up and slung her over his shoulder. She was completely limp and therefore very heavy. He grunted and snarled something about making her 'pay for this.' As they fled, the skin of the dead man slowly crumpled as it emptied of its hungry black stuffing.

The group of men who emerged from the forest towards day's end was significantly smaller than that which had entered it. They were all, even Hook, dirty and ragged and many a face held a haunted look. The shipwreck had claimed three lives, the forest a further four. They were reduced to barely a handful of less than able-bodied men, and their meagre supplies had dwindled down to almost nothing.

The village was visible not far away, but to reach it, they must first cross the thin spit of land and then gain entry through the gate, which as Cassandra had discovered upon her earlier arrival, was constantly guarded by a pair of well-armed sentries.

As Hook took a step too far out of the tree-line, an arrow whizzed past his ear and slammed into a tree-trunk, buried half way up to the fletching. It had been a warning shot. Hook knew from past experience that the village archers were skilled at their craft.

They withdrew back into the trees to confer, and also to remove themselves from the line of fire, should the sentries decide to escalate their defensive manoeuvres.

'What should we do Capn', Smee asked worriedly.

'I'd rather be shot down than spend another day in that cursed place,' one of the men grumbled.

'It is not my intention to suffer this forsaken wilderness, for one moment longer than I must, Mr Teynte,' Hook said coldly, 'however I would rather not allow the savages the satisfaction of finishing me off if I can possibly prevent it.'

'Capn,' Smee said, 'she looks awful bad.'

Cassandra's breathing was shallow and irregular and she lay still, her skin pallid and clammy to the touch. It seemed doubtful that she would last the hour, let alone the day.

Hook's expression grew thoughtful, an idea was forming in his brain, he could not be sure that it would work, but it was at least worth a shot.

'Those bloody savages will have an arrow through the heart before we're a half dozen yards out into the open. And they can't be reasoned with, being…well savages after all,' said Robert Mullins.

'Ah,' said Hook as he hoisted Cassandra up, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back, 'but they may not be quite so eager to kill her. Hold for my signal, and should I fail to return, Mr Smee has command.'

In the strangeness of her unconscious world, Cassandra was beginning to feel extremely sleepy. Even though she was still surrounded by the fires, she felt calm, almost like she was drifting on a cloud.

'Falling asleep here, means you're on the way out,' her other-self said acerbically. 'So go ahead and have a snooze, you'll never wake up, but with the way your life is currently going that might not be a bad thing.'

Cassandra felt too floaty to be irritated by this, she just smiled sleepily, her eyes drifting slowly shut.

The men guarding the village watched closely as the tall man approached the village. They held their bows at the ready, but did not yet fire. The man walked carefully, but with a determined stride, carrying someone in his arms.

The sentries looked at each other in mild confusion. They pirates had attacked before, and they had been rebuffed. Was this a new trick – or something else? A child had already been sent, running to fetch the king, but in the meantime, they were not entirely sure what should be done.

At last one of them called out, 'stop where you are. Do not come any closer.'

The man seemed surprised to hear himself addressed in English.

'I come in peace,' he said.

The sentry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. The tangle of red hair which hung over the man's arm looked oddly familiar. Even as this thought entered his mind, his fellow sentry let out an angry exclamation.

'What have you done to this woman,' he said, 'answer well or you will die now.'

'She was struck with the poisoned blade of the boy, Peter Pan. It was dipped in that foul and deadly poison, of which I am sure you are familiar. I have heard it called the Blood Tears.'

'Place her on the ground and raise your hands above your head. We know well of your trickery, pirate. Do not think that we would forget the past so easily.'

Hook over and carefully let her slip down onto the ground. He took a small step backwards and raised his hands into the air.

There was a gasp of recognition from the villagers as they saw his hook.

One of the sentries pulled his bow string taut. 'Why have you left your ship, Captain?' he spat out, 'why would you come to our village if not to attack?'

Hook spoke calmly, never taking his eyes from the arrow, 'we only seek shelter,' he said, 'and assistance of this unfortunate wounded girl, who, even now is fading away. Alas, she will not last the night in this harsh and unforgiving wilderness. Although we may have had our differences in the past, I assure you, neither myself or my men seek to do you any harm. I give you my word of honour. Our ship was sunk in a dread and unnatural storm, leaving us no recourse but to flee into the jungle or perish.'

'How can we know that you speak the truth, pirate? What guarantee other than your _word_ have we that you hold no ill intentions.'

Hook shrugged, 'I fear that you have none, but, I also fear that if you turn me away, then this poor girl, who I understand you know, will die. Probably,' he added, 'in terrible agony, it's hardly a pretty way to go.'

There was a commotion as the king arrived, followed by what appeared to be the rest of the village. He was austerely dressed, and carried no weapons.

'If you would be so good as to open the gate, my friend,' he said to the sentry closest to the entrance.

The man seemed unsure, but the king placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, 'I shall be quite safe,' he said, 'if our visitor causes any trouble you may shoot him.' The sentry looked at him doubtfully, but opened the gate all the same. The king walked towards the waiting figure with a fearless and measured tread.

Paying no attention to Hook, he crouched down beside Cassandra and placed a hand against her forehead. He held it there for a moment, and then pressed two fingers to her throat, feeling her pulse. He carefully pulled her one of her eyelids open, noting the red flecks still crusted around the corners of her eyes.

He stood up, looking first at Hook and then back down at Cassandra.

'The girl is sick,' was all he said.

'But king, how do we know they did not poison her themselves in an effort to gain entry under false pretences?' one of the watchers asked.

The king shook his head. 'This man tells the truth, this illness is the fruit of a dark poison, used by the boy to drive his enemies to a long and draw-out death. The poison itself can be treated, but the infection runs deep and is pernicious in its attack.'

He turned his piercing gaze onto Hook, 'however, while this may be true, I have no doubt he has brought the girl with the purpose of gaining entry. He hopes that her plight will soften our hearts. I suspect that this is his most significant motive, rather than concern for her health. Despite this, I do not believe that he wishes to gain entry for nefarious purposes. He has a hunted look about him.'

He folded his arms, his expression growing harder, 'nevertheless, I intend to leave nothing to chance. We will take the girl now and see she is cared for. You will return to your men, and then, if you all agree, one at a time you may cross the bridge. We will search you for, and confiscate any weapons, then, if we are satisfied, we will allow you to enter and seek shelter. Do you agree to these terms?'

Hook met his gaze, 'I agree to your terms,' he said.

The king gestured at one of the village men to come forward. The man walked cautiously through the gate. When he reached Cassandra, he looked warily at The Captain, eyeing the gleam of his raised hook. He quickly bent down and picked her up, and hurried back to the gate. The crowd parted for him, and Cassandra was whisked away out of sight.

'Go to your men,' the king said to Hook, 'explain to them what must happen. I warn you though, if we suspect you of treachery, we will not show mercy. Your end will be swift.'

Hook nodded, and turned to retrace his steps. The villagers watched as he crossed over the land-bridge and disappeared back into the trees.

At first, the men were sceptical, they worried that this was a trap and that they would be going like lambs to the slaughter.

'They only want to take our weapons so as it will be easier to slit our throats and scalp us,' Robert Mullins argued.

'Can we trust them Capn?' Smee asked, 'or are we a scampering from the fryin pan into the fire.'

Hook silenced the argument by announcing that they could do what they pleased, but that he was going back.

'I cannot say that I bear complete trust, for they are after all known to be sly devils,' he said. 'But I have spoken with the man they call their king and I do not believe that he means to massacre us. At any rate, should they play us false, they will not have an easy time of it and I would rather die fighting like a man, rather than skulking in the forest waiting for some new horror to emerge from the shadows.'

He left them to return to the village. There was some further debate, but not long after, the first man came forward. He was nervous, and the hands which he held above him were shaking. As promised he was searched and his weapons were taken. He waited for a killing blow to fall, but nothing came.

Not unkindly, he was led away through the crowd and taken to a room, the floor of which was covered in soft mats and cushions.

He was locked in, but at least it was a comfortable prison. It was with a sense of relief that he saw his Captain, alive and well, reclining in the corner of the room, his right arm tucked up under his jacket.

'Well, Mr Cookson,' Hook said, 'I see that you are a man after all. Tell me, did you volunteer or were you the proverbial sacrificial lamb?'

One by one, the others were brought into the same room, and after a while, a pair of heavily armed men entered, followed by other people with trays of food.

The pirates descended on the food, eating like the starving men which they very nearly were.

Despite this benevolent treatment, Smee could not help but wonder what the future held. He hoped that wherever Cassandra was, that they could do something or her.

Hook seemed entirely unconcerned by the whole affair, in fact, he seemed to be napping, his left arm draped across his eyes. However, he was not asleep, far from it, he was waiting and listening. His right wrist remained tucked under his jacket. This was a situation where brains rather than brawn must be his main weapon.

In the other place, Cassandra closed her eyes. She felt herself melting into the ground, she was falling, but it was like falling through a sky made of feathers, soft and slow.

She dimly felt something shaking her shoulder determinedly, but it was like a distant dream. She fell deeper.

'Damn it,' a voice floated through the ether all around her, 'I tried to stay out of it, but this is too much.'

She felt a stinging slap across her cheek and it jerked her back into a sense of panic awareness.

She opened her eyes to see the other her standing over her, gripping her collar in bloodless hands. She shook her viciously, slamming her back into the ground. 'You are not going to die,' she said, 'this is too easy. We're going to die one day, but when we do it's going to be epic, like jumping into a volcano or skydiving in a hurricane. This is so lame and I refuse to stand for it. Get it together and fight.'

 _ **A/N:**_ _This chapter was hard to write, I don't know why, but it was. I hope it turned out alright. Will Cassandra pull through or will I be cruel? I guess you'll have to wait and see muhahahahaha._

 _Also, I just realised that I have been writing this story for over a year now, and it's over 50,000 words, like actual novel length._

 _I would like to credit my sister for the part about the ants, she really wanted me to include that, so you lucky people got to read about bugs coming out of a dead guy's nose, I am happy to pass along any sentiments of disgust._

 _If you have been reading this story and like it (or even if you really hate it), please consider leaving a review (a huge thanks to all the people who already have. Special shout out to Wavywavy). As a writer, hearing what you, the readers think is literally the best reward possible, not only does it give me motivation as I continue to write, but it also gives me better idea of whether I need to change anything._

 _Until next time_

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	21. Chapter 21 - Real

The wind swept over her with such speed that it almost took her breath along with it. She stood thigh-deep in a field of grass – rolling away, dead and dry in an endless brown swathe. The grass danced with a dry scrape which echoed across the empty horizons. The sky was a thousand shades of red, in which the sun hung like an enormous pale-yellow disk.

Something came towards her, the grass parting with a creeping rustle. She turned to run, but the grass-blades snaked out, wrapping themselves around her body like a lover's embrace as they held her fast. She struggled, but the tendrils only grew tighter. There was a pressure on her ankle and she was dragged below the brown waves, the stalks closing back over her head, leaving nothing but the swaying grass.

Cassandra woke in darkness. She was in her bed, the covers warm and heavy over her shoulders. The feeling of relief that washed over her whole being was incredible. The worrying ache which had gnawed away at the pit of her stomach for so long was fading away, replaced with a comforting sense of safety. She snuggled deeper into the covers and began to drift back to sleep, her breathing growing gradually slower and deeper.

It was at this precise moment she became aware that she was not the only thing breathing in that room.

With growing horror, she realised that one of the blankets was, not in fact a blanket. It tightened around her waist and pulled her closer. She bit back a scream and fought to keep her breathing even and regular. When something nuzzled the back of her neck, her thinly stretched composure snapped.

Twisting sharply, she slammed her elbow into whatever was behind her and leapt out of bed, kicking the blankets aside. As she fumbled in the dark for a door-handle, there was a grunt of pain, a shifting sound, the striking of a match, and then a light flared up in the darkness.

She turned around to see, illuminated by the flickering light of a candle, the angular features of one of the last people in the world she would have wished to find there.

'What in the seven hells are you doing woman?' James Hook grumbled, squinting at her.

Cassandra picked up a book and hurled it at him. He ducked, and it thudded into the head-board instead. 'Get out of my bedroom,' she shrieked.

'It's our bedroom you senseless hussy,' he growled as the second book connected with his shoulder.

Cassandra held up her left hand. On the ring finger was a gold wedding band, the diamond huge and gleaming in the candle-light. She screamed.

The candle flame seemed to detach itself and rose up into the air, a tiny glowing spark dancing in the dark. It flared brighter, the light growing until it filled the whole room. She fell to her knees, clutching at her eyes as the light blinded her.

Cassandra found herself back in the forest, but the things which walked beside her were not men. They looked like things unaccustomed to walking upright had slid into human skin, but did not quite know how to fill the space.

There were flowers everywhere. They spread across the forest floor in a blanket of colour, their sweetly nauseating scent permeating the air. The petals were closed tightly, but as she watched they began to bulge and pulse, bursting open like rotten fruit. Their black hearts began to stir and a thousand, thousand spiders streamed out, crawling down the stalks with such force that they bent and snapped beneath the weight. They trickled down, covering the ground and spreading out in a seething black mass. Cassandra leapt up onto a fallen log. The things that had been her travelling companions stood silently as the spiders crawled up them, until they appeared to be nothing but blackened statues. They began to scuttle up the sides of the log. Cassandra stamped down on the creatures, but for every dozen she killed, another half-hundred took their place. They skittered up her boots. She tried to swipe them away, but there were too many. They clung to her arms, crawling across her shoulders and up onto her face.

'Oh do stop fussing,' said a bored voice, 'they're only a few bugs, it's hardly going to kill you. Besides, none of this is real, remember.'

The spiders and the forest disappeared, melting away into a white expanse of pure emptiness.

'I think we'll be waking up soon,' the other her sniffed, tossing her hair, 'not that you deserve it of course, with all the whining and screaming and hysterical nonsense which has been going on,'

'Oh please, don't act like you don't care, you stopped me from dying.'

'Did I, I really don't recall,' she said. Her face lit up and she grinned evilly. 'Well, well. You and him then. Told you.'

'I'M Sooorrry, but I clearly cannot control what happens in my hallucinations. Also I think the fact that most of the stuff I have been experiencing has been nightmarish should speak for itself.'

'Methinks the lady doth protest too much. He didn't show up in your sub-conscious by accident. And in bed, you saucy minx.'

'Did I mention that I hate you?'

'Right back at ya, sweet thing.'

'I'm not going to miss you, even a little bit.'

'Who says you're gonna have to, doll.'

'Please tell me you're lying.'

'Later days.' She vanished with a laugh.

Cassandra opened her eyes. She looked around groggily. At first her surroundings seemed vague and undefined. She blinked and tried to sit up. Her leg felt strangely stiff, and there was a biting metallic tang in her mouth. There was a shifting from the corner as a shadow lengthened and began to shuffle forward until it resolved into the bent form of an extremely old and wrinkled woman.

'I see you've decided to re-join us living folk,' she said, plumping up a pillow and deftly sliding it in behind Cassandra's shoulders, propping her up.

'Where am I?' Cassandra asked, 'and how did I get wherever here is?'

'You're in my house,' the woman said, 'and as for how you got here,' she cackled, 'the poor man wouldn't stand a chance if I was a day under forty years younger. Nice legs on him. I've always said if a man cuts an elegant figure, it will take him further than a pretty face; and there's a lad who has both.

Cassandra sighed, 'please tell me you don't mean…'

The old woman turned and walked towards the wall with considerable spryness for her apparent age, 'ye've eyes in your head girl, you know well who I mean.'

Cassandra wrinkled her nose, 'he's pretty much the worst person I ever met.'

'Oh but the handsome ones often are. Take my fourth husband – a fine featured rogue that one, and I don't think we ever put two civil words together. But, I didn't marry him for his talking, you can be sure.' She cackled again, 'the stories I could tell you.'

'I'm not entirely sure I want to know,' Cassandra said.

'The young, always so squeamish. Mind your eyes,' she yanked the shutter covering the window open and light flooded in.

Cassandra winced as the light hit her eyes. Instinctively she brought an arm up to shield her face. She heard the sounds of the woman returning and then a scrape as she apparently pulled up a chair.

As her eyes began to accustom themselves to the light, she was finally able to look around properly. She was half sitting, half lying in a narrow bed, with the blankets tucked up to her waist. The room was small, but exceedingly cluttered. Bundles of dried herbs hung from almost every square inch of the ceiling, the result of this being an aromatic and slightly bitter scent to the air. Shelves and tables had been pushed against every available sliver of wall-space, their surfaces covered with an organised chaos of bottles, jars, salves, implements, jars and other paraphernalia.

'Is this real?' she asked doubtfully, 'it has been a little hard to tell recently.'

The woman leaned over and gave her arm a hard pinch.

'Ouch!'

'Real as anything in this world can be,' she said, settling back down in her chair, 'you've been seeing all manner of apparitions, I should not wonder. You were doing a fair deal of babbling, and no small degree of screaming, but with the concoction I forced down your throat, I should wager the worst of that business is behind us.'  
The woman nodded sagely, 'it was a close thing, a close thing indeed. A quarter hour later and you would be all set to nurture a lovely little patch of grass. As it is, you have been lying here, drooling all over my pillowcases for four days now.'

'Four days,' Cassandra said worriedly, 'has anything…bad happened while I've been here?'

'Aside from the state of your hair, nothing less than usual.'

'May I ask your name? It feels strange not knowing what to call the person who has been watching me sleep for the better part of a week.'

'You can call me Granny. I have another name to be sure, but I do not think another living soul's spoken it in…well, I couldn't say how long. And, there's no point in picking it up again now.'

'I guess we should discuss the damage to my leg,' Cassandra said, 'the last time I remember looking at it, the infection seemed particularly disgusting. Everything after that became sort of fuzzy so I have no idea how bad it got, but I'm estimating it wasn't pretty.'

'Nasty stuff that poison,' the woman said, shaking her head, 'I would like to put that boy over my knee and give him a good hiding. The good news is, you will live. At least, I have halted the spread of the putrid juices in your blood. I cannot say for sure that a good old-fashioned infection might not set in, but none of this dark and vile rot. The bad news is, you've a chunk of flesh missing, big enough to feed a small family for a week. The antidote only does so much, it stays the spread, but what is done is done, and the flesh will not heal itself, not in the normal way. Down to the bone it was. Should you find yourself unable to leave, then in a week or two, when you are stronger, I should think it wise to take the leg.'

Cassandra nodded, 'well this is hardly ideal, but with my line of work, some kind of hideous and permanent injury was inevitable I suppose,' she said wryly, 'at least this way I'll get a nice fat compensation pay-out if I ever do make it back.'

'Now,' Granny said, 'not another word until you've swallowed down a good draft of this broth. You've had precious little sustenance the past few days, just what liquids I could dribble down your throat.' She handed Cassandra a mug.

Cassandra took a tentative sip and almost spat it back out. Granny saw her expression and laughed, 'I may be a physician, but I do not claim to be any kind of cook. Now another gulp if you please, there is nothing in there that will kill you in such small quantities, and a deal more that will do you good.'

After Cassandra had choked down enough of the concoction to satisfy the woman for the time being, she set aside the mug.

'Now Granny said,' I suppose the next thing you'll be wanting is to get out of bed despite my protestations, so I'll save myself the bed. Besides, if you feel up to it, the king has asked to see you. But, I have no intention of letting you go until I am sure you won't end straight back here with a concussion because you've fainted or some such foolishness.'

She leant over and folded the blankets back. 'Now,' she said, 'slide yourself over to the edge of the bed and swing your legs over, nice and slow.' Cassandra looked down, she was wearing an unfamiliar dress. It was a simple cut, homespun and tied at the waist.

'I burnt the rags you arrived in,' Granny said, 'they were in worse shape than you are.'

Cassandra rolled the hem up and examined her injured leg. It was in some kind of splint, the bandages stretching from hip to toe. She poked at it. The bandages felt stiff and heavy.

'Now,' Granny said as Cassandra carefully pushed her legs over the edge of the bed, 'you will be able to get around with the aid of these crutches. However, on its own, your wounded leg is more or less useless for any actual walking purposes. The bone is mostly intact, so you will be able to put some weight on it, but little else.'

She handed Cassandra a pair of crutches, ensuring they were firmly under the latter's arms before she helped her to her feet with surprising strength. It was a little difficult at first, but Cassandra managed to hobble around. The pain seemed to be gone at least, no doubt Granny had dosed her up with some lethal painkillers.

Granny watched her critically as she made her circuit of the room. As Cassandra's confidence and dexterity began to increase, Granny finally nodded. 'It will do for now,' she said, 'I give you my grudging professional permission to go. But, mind that you take care. And a word of warning, you may feel awfully spry right now, but that's only because the last dose I gave you hasn't worn off yet. Come nightfall and you might feel a little green around the gills, so make sure that you are sitting down. If you experience anything that seems especially horrible, for example if strangely coloured liquids begin to leak out of every orifice in your body, send someone to find me.'

'Thank you,' Cassandra said, 'for everything.'

Granny opened the door. There was a youngish looking man slouched in a chair outside. He had the blondest hair Cassandra had ever seen outside of a bottle. He looked bored, but when he saw Granny he leapt to his feet and practically stood to attention.

'Well, well,' Granny cackled, 'what do we have here?'

The man gulped, 'it's me Granny, Adrian, you told me to wait here.'

'I know who you are lad,' Granny said, 'hard to mistake you, giant lummox that you are. If you aren't getting taller by the minute, eat us all out of house and home you will.' She turned to Cassandra, 'off with you then,' she said retreating back into the room and shutting the door.

Adrian stood awkwardly, shuffling his feet, 'are you well now?' he asked.

Cassandra looked down at her crutches and then back up at him. She raised an eyebrow.

His face turned bright red, 'I mean of course…that is to say.'

Cassandra smiled, putting him out of his misery, 'I won't be dancing a jig anytime soon, but I'm more or less in one piece.'

'I'm Adrian,' he said, sticking out his hand. She clamped the crutch under her arm and managed to shake it without falling over.

'If you're ready,' he said, 'I have come to escort you to the king. He's waiting for you.'

'Good gracious man, I hope you haven't been waiting here for four whole days.'

He grinned, 'only a few hours. Granny sent word when you were beginning to stir. I can't say I am sorry to see you though, she gave me a very uncomfortable chair and said something about young people needing to be toughened up for their own good. Then she poked me with a stick and cackled.'

'I can imagine,' Cassandra said, 'but I suppose it is the prerogative of the very old to make the very young's life a misery.'

'Can I assist you? I mean I could hold your arm. Or,' he said, apparently eager to fulfil his responsibilities to the letter, 'I could carry you?'

'I think I'll manage,' she said, 'but I shall make sure to let you know if my leg snaps in two half way there and I need to be lugged around like a sack of potatoes.'

As they emerged out into the open air, Cassandra was surprised by the proximity of Granny's house to the centre of the village. Since waking up, she had heard hardly any of the noises one would associate with busy village life. Because of this, she had expected that they would be situated somewhat apart. The reason it was so quiet was not because of a separation, but rather because there was not a soul in sight.

As Adrian led the way through the town square, Cassandra was thankful that the ground was smooth and relatively lacking in things which might trip her or otherwise cause her to lose her footing. Her injured leg was ungainly to say the least.

'Where is everyone?' she asked, 'last time I was here, there were at least a hundred people, probably more.'

'They'll all be waiting at the king's house,' Adrian said, 'he didn't want to let the pirates out until he heard your story. And just having them here is making everyone a bit nervous.'

'So, how did you get here then, Adrian?' Cassandra asked.

'Well,' he said, 'I was on a ship and I fell overboard and then I was just, here. It was all quite sudden. I don't mind it though. More relaxing than what I was used to, except when we get attacked of course.'

'When are you from? What year?'

'1962,' he said, 'but that was a long time ago. We're from all over the place here, Bjorn is a real-life Viking, and as it turns out, also my great-great-great and then lots more greats, grandfather. It was nice to meet him, all my family was gone back home.'

'Interesting,' Cassandra said, 'the rift must indeed exist pretty much as a fixed point through time. It's rather surprising that more people haven't ended up here, but I suppose if it's right out in the middle of the ocean. Maybe the size fluctuates…'

The king's house drew within sight. There were people outside, crammed up against the doorway.

Adrian pushed ahead, clearing a path as they made their way inside. The large hall in which she had first met the king was almost full. It did indeed appear that the entire village had gathered. The king was sitting on a slightly more ornamental chair than last time she had seen him, and he seemed to be in conversation with several serious looking people.

The king noticed their entrance almost immediately. He politely put an end to the conversation and turned his attention onto the newcomers. 'Thank you, Adrian,' he said, 'I see our guest has found her feet again. It is good to see you well, Cassandra.'

Adrian gave the king a small bow, grinned at Cassandra and walked back to stand with a group of young men, one of whom was even taller and blonder and presumably the famous Bjorn.

The king smiled kindly at her and gestured towards a chair slightly to his left. 'Please sit,' he said, 'you must not tire yourself. Granny has told me in no uncertain terms, that if you end up back in her care before the week is out, she will take her switch to the lot of us. I do not,' he said, 'doubt her word.'

Cassandra sat down, which was more difficult than it sounds when you can only bend one leg, and carefully propped the crutches up against the arm of the chair.

'Now,' the king said, 'please give us as accurate an account as you can, about the events leading up to your arrival. I realise that you may be missing some details, you were unconscious when you arrived after all, but whatever you can recall would be of help.'

'Well,' Cassandra said, 'how far back do you want this to go, because this story gets kind of crazy?'

'As far back as you believe necessary, I leave it to your discretion. If you are happy to speak, we are ready to listen.'

'Well, alrighty then. After I left the first time…'

The audience listened in silence save for the occasional outburst from a child, or a common intake of breath when she reached a particularly attention-grabbing moment in the anecdote.

When her tale had reached its completion, the king seemed to consider it all for a while.

'Do you trust these men?' he said finally, 'after all, it was you that their captain betrayed. I do not wish to cause the death of men who it is in my power to save, but I cannot justify putting my own people in danger, and we cannot keep them confined forever.'

'I don't know if I _trust_ them, per se,' Cassandra said doubtfully, 'after all, I trusted the Captain to act in his own best interests once before, and I think we all know how well that turned out for me.'

There was a general mumbling and nodding of heads.

'But,' she said, 'while I would not be in this position if it were not for Hook, I would mostly likely be dead if not for Starkey and Smee. I only remember snatches of what happened, but I know that they looked out for me, in Starkey's case, even before the shipwreck. If you force them to leave, they most likely will not last the week, and I would prefer not to have their deaths on my conscience if I can help it. We could just throw Hook out of course, but I rather think that would only engender hostility in the rest.'

'What then do you suggest we do?' the king asked.

'If I could speak with them,' Cassandra said, 'advise them of the situation. If I can make it clear that their continued survival depends on their collective behaviour, then they may keep each other in line. Should he be tempted to make trouble, I think the Captain will find his influence has dwindled along with the size of his crew.'

'I will permit this,' the king said, 'but I insist that Adrian and Raathan accompany you. You are still weak and I do not trust this man. Speak with them, and if they prove agreeable, I will have them brought before the assembly, they may plead their case and then we will put it to a vote.'

Hook was pacing, as he had been doing so for most of the morning. Four days they had been here. Four days, and their hosts had spoken barely a word. They brought food and water twice a day, but save for that minimal degree of human interaction, they had been left entirely alone. Beside himself, there were only seven surviving men: Smee, Starkey, Robert Mullins, Cookson, Ed Teynte, Alf Mason and George Scourie. Should the villagers become hostile, this skeleton crew would stand little chance.

The sound of voices came from outside the door. A scrape of a bolt sliding back, the metallic click of a key turning in the lock and the creak of the door swinging open. Hook watched through hooded eyes, his wrist tucked carefully into his coat.

Cassandra came in, leaning heavily on crutches. She looked thin and pale, with dark circles carved deep around her eyes. She was flanked by two tall men, their faces suspicious and untrusting as they surveyed the room, weapons at the ready. She walked carefully, as if she was not used to the way her bones fit together, and weariness was writ large across the planes of her face.

Hook bent down into a low mocking bow, straightening with a flourish. 'Welcome,' he said, 'to our humble lodgings. Provided for, as I am sure you have observed, with the most generous hospitalities.' He turned to Cassandra, 'I do believe you have brought a pair of guard dogs. But, we are such old and bosom friends, madam, it wounds me deeply that you think such precautions necessary.'

'It would serve you well,' Raathan said angrily, 'to think more carefully before you speak.'

'Oh, for goodness sake,' Cassandra said irritably, 'would someone please fetch me a chair before I fall over.'

There were no chairs in the room, but Starkey whisked over a pile of cushions, and helped her to sit down. She leaned back, stretching her leg out in front of her.

'I am glad to see you alive and well,' he said, 'we heard no word and I had begun to fear the worst.'

'I'm mostly alive, but I'm not sure about well,' she said. 'Anyway, I'm afraid this isn't a social call, apparently I'm here on official business, so could you all please gather around and listen closely, it's story time.'

'Since you seem to be their creature now,' Hook said, 'you may as well deliver their message.'

'You might want to get a civil tongue in that head of yours,' Cassandra snapped, 'don't tempt me. At this point, it would give me great pleasure to see you tossed out on your ear, so watch it.' She rubbed at her leg. 'Basically, if you want to stay I'm going to need an agreement of good behaviour. You will not attack, harm or even pester any person in this village. If one of you causes trouble, you're all out. The king doesn't trust the lot of you, and frankly I'm not sure if I do either. But, if you can convince me, you'll get to make your case to the village assembly. There's no guarantee, but if you play your cards right, and I back you up, you stand a chance of not ending up dead. Now, are there any questions?'

Cookson raised his hand tentatively.

'Yes?'

'They don't trust us, why should we afford them any different. How do we know they ain't about to slaughter us once we let our guard down.'

'Well,' Cassandra said, 'the thing is, I do actually trust them, so you're going to have to take my word for it. Anyway, if they were planning to kill you, why wouldn't they have done it by now? Think about it, you've been locked up here for four days without any weapons, all they had to do was set fire to the building and you'd all be doomed. Anyone else?'

'I have a question,' Starkey said, 'if we agree to their terms, will we be allowed our freedom, or will they continue to confine us for the duration of our sojourn? It would be foolish to say I am ungrateful for the refuge, however I also hold my freedom in high regard.'

'It is not my belief that you will be locked up, however your freedom may be somewhat restricted at first, after all, your only previous interactions have been more violent than not.'

'How long,' said Robert Mullins, 'will we be staying for? All I mean is, we haven't exactly got a ship anymore and unlikely to get another. Will they let us stay permanent like, or is it more of a temporary arrangement?'

'I'm not entirely sure to the particulars, but I'm sure that's something you can discuss with the village council.'

The pirates gathered into a tight circle and began to hold a tense but furtive discussion. She only heard vague mumbling, punctuated with the occasional audible word and surreptitious glance in her direction. Finally, Hook broke away and stepped forward.

'We agree to your terms,' he said formally, 'if you would be so good as to conduct me to your leader, I should be delighted to discuss the conditions of our arrangement, gentleman to gentleman.'

Cassandra wrapped her fingers around the crutches, 'please help me up,' she said to Adrian.

Once on her feet, she limped up to Hook. She looked at him through narrowed eyes, and then her hand shot out and grabbed the wrist tucked into his coat. She pulled it out and looked at the stump with its ugly puckered scar. 'Well, well,' she said, 'not exactly Captain Hook at the moment are you.' She dropped his arm and he slipped it back into his coat, his eyes glinting with angry red darkness.

'You would do well to remember,' he said softly, 'that I carried you through that jungle, your life is partly owing to me.'

'I don't care if you carried me up from the pits of Hades. I blame you for all of this, and it's not the kind of thing I'm willing to forgive or forget. I'm probably going to lose my leg because of you, so don't think for one second I'm doing any of this on your account. _You_ would do well to remember that I'm putting myself on the line here, so swallow your pride for the sake of your crew and we might all just live to see another sunrise.'

As she turned to leave, a blanket of tiredness suddenly descended over her. She felt it deep in her bones, and spreading out through her veins. One of her eyes felt strangely hot and sticky, with something warm trickling from the corner. She wiped at it with a fingertip, feeling a dampness as she brought the digit away. She looked down to see the skin smeared with red. She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, quickly wiping her fingers against the rough fabric of her dress.

 _ **A/N:**_ _I know this chapter is quite a long time coming, but between writing the last one, I had a very demanding Christmas job, where I ended up having to work up to 14 hour days. I also got sick and went on holiday, so motivation was not a thing in my life. When I get back from holiday later this week, I will be working full time until I go back to university in March, so while I will still be writing during this period, it may take me a bit longer to get chapters out, just an advanced warning._

 _I hope everyone had a nice Christmas/whatever holiday you celebrate and a happy new year. Don't forget to leave a review. Byeeeee._


	22. Chapter 22 - Collection of Lost Souls

They walked single-file through the silent village, flanked on either side by guards. As they entered the meeting house, the people around the doorway parted like a curtain, watching suspiciously as the band of ragged men funnelled in.

Carrying up the rear, Cassandra was beginning to feel a numbness pinpricking its way across her body. It had started out slowly at first, but now a fog was hovering at the corners of her eyes, threatening to trickle out, obscuring her vision. She gritted her teeth against her body's natural desire to topple over, and continued to walk forward, one step at a time.

Raathan's keen eyes noticed the hitch in her step and the strain thrumming across her spine. He caught her eye, mouthing a question. She shook her head, and he dropped back, hovering close enough to catch her, should she fall. She held her head up, and her shoulders rigid as she walked past the pirates and back to her seat.

The king looked down, not-unkindly, at the collection of lost souls before him. 'Who speaks on your behalf?' he asked.

Hook stepped forward, 'I have that honour, sir,' he said, 'I am Captain James Hook, late of the Jolly Roger, and your humble servant.' He swept into a low bow which managed to look only a mite condescending.

'Tell me, _Captain,_ ' the king said, 'why should I allow you to remain here? In the past, you have attacked us on more than one occasion. This leaves me with little reason or desire to trust you. Why should I risk the lives of people whom I value and respect to save yours?'

Hook inclined his head sympathetically, 'hand on my heart,' he said, 'I regret, deeply, and with the utmost sincerity, I assure you, the enmity which has, for so long, existed between us. I can only beg with humble candour, your forgiveness and implore that we seize this moment to heal those ancient wounds of strife. We share a common enemy do we not? Why should we fight one against the other, when we could stand united against his mutual foe?'

'That,' said the king, 'was a very pretty speech. But your words grow like weeds, obscuring the truth. You have not answered my question. Why should we trust you?'

Hook placed his hand over his heart, 'I swear,' he said with grave solemnity, 'on my honour, my life, my sainted mother's grave, and on the very stars themselves: neither myself nor my men will raise a hand to harm so much as a single hear upon the heads of any man, woman or child in this place. I will personally gut the traitorous dog who dares break this fervent vow. All I ask of you is that you do not cast us out, for to do so would be to sign our very death warrant.'

The king considered this. As the seconds slipped into minutes, and still he said nothing, they began to worry. The air hung heavy with palpable anticipation.

Finally, he cleared his throat, and spoke. 'If you remain here,' he said, 'if we allow you to remain here, that is, it will not be without conditions. At the very least, a strict curfew will be observed, and you will remain under close observation, with no tolerance for those who seek to challenge the rules. Moreover, I cannot conscience returning your weapons. If these conditions are disobeyed, no second chances will be offered. Do you all agree to abide by these terms?'

The pirates looked at each other. There was hardly any other option, not one with the promise of continued being-aliveness anyway. But, a small shred of their pride remained, holding them beck lest they appear too desperate, to vulnerable. At last one of them broke, shrugging his shoulders in helpless affirmation. The final barrier of inhibition removed, they slowly nodded one by one, the full gravity of their situation sinking into the marrow of their bones.

'The village council must put this matter to a vote,' the king said, 'it is too serious to be decided by one man. The many must decide the fate of the few, and while they do so, you must wait outside.'

It was almost warm, but the breeze which teased at their hair and whispered against their cheeks carried a cold kiss. They waited. There was no way of telling the time, though it seemed quite a quantity of it must have passed. The two guards stationed outside to keep an eye on them, watched suspiciously, muttering back and forth to each other.

Smee scuffed his toe around in the dirt, 'what do we do if they won't let us stay, Cap'n?' he asked, 'we're in a tight spot, and no mistake. Just look at what 'appened to those poor lost souls the jungle. Worse could befall us, and no mistake.'

'Mr Smee has the right of it,' Starkey said gloomily, 'lady luck is a fickle creature, and I fear the cards she has dealt do not lie in our favour. Our supplies are next to none, and this land is a hostile one.'

'I am perfectly aware,' Hook said, 'but this is hardly the first time we have found ourselves on the wrong end of a hurricane with no port on the horizon. Life is a wheel lads, today we might be crushed beneath it, but tomorrow we rise. And do not imagine, if the need arises, that I will hesitate to take what they refuse us. Better to die as men, than cowering like beasts in the jungle.'

A middle aged woman came outside, arms crossed. She nodded to the guards and then turned to the pirates. 'You can come back inside now,' she said curtly. The look in her eyes suggested that whatever the outcome of the vote had been, she held it in a state of high disfavour.

The king sat with hands folded together on his lap. His expression was one of quiet consideration, which gave little indication of what had been discussed. 'We have taken a vote,' he said. 'The results were a hairs-breath apart. However, a small majority did prevail. The will of the people is that you may remain here, for the time being.'

By the expressions on faces surrounding them, it seemed as though the will of some of the people was in direct opposition to this decision. But silence prevailed, and no-one articulated their unspoken disagreement.

Almost as one, the pirates seemed to let out a long sigh of relief. It was as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted from their collective shoulders.

Hook swept the king another low and elegant bow, 'you have my thanks, sir', he said, 'we owe you our lives.'

The king looked at him appraisingly, 'I trust your memory will prove reliable. From now on, I am afraid I cannot permit you to remain in lodgings together. I trust you will forgive this precaution, but trust is a valuable commodity, which must be earned rather than given. Families have offered themselves as your hosts. In return, you will assist them with whatever honest work they can find you. They will in turn, report back at intervals to the village council.

With very little ceremony, the crew was divided out amongst their new hosts. A father and his grown sons took on Robert Mullins, a pair of brothers collected Ed Teynte, Smee went to a cautiously cheerful middle-aged couple, George Scourie to a mother and her two daughters – all of them tall and fearsome, with the scarred look of warriors about the, Cookson went away with a family of red-headed giants, and Alf Mason with a blacksmith and his nephew. Hook, apparently having been designated the most in need of watchful eyes, was sent to join the bachelor quarters. Only Starkey remained, standing alone in the centre of the room, a hundred pairs of eyes fixed upon him.

'You will be joining my household for the time being,' the king said, 'I hope you will not give me cause to regret.'

He clapped his hands once, and the meeting broke apart, the people dispersing back to the business of their daily toils. Within minutes, the only people remaining inside, were the king, Tiger-Lilly – who glared at Starkey from beside her father's chair, and Cassandra – who had begun to look more than a little green about the gills.

'Excuse me,' she said quietly, drawing Tiger-Lilly's attention away from the object of her angry glares. 'I rather think I should lie down,' she slid the back of her hand across her forehead to wipe away the perspiration, 'before I fall off this chair and make a complete fool of myself.'

'Of course,' Tiger-Lilly said guiltily, 'you are not well. I should have thought…Granny will have all our hides if she has to stich you up again.' She hurried to help Cassandra to her feet.

Cassandra turned her head to look back at Starkey, 'I'm glad you're staying,' she said. He nodded, and agave her a strained but genuine smile.

For the first time in many nights, Cassandra sleep was untroubled by dreams. She slept deep and long, only waking when the rays of a midday sun washed softly across her face. She ached down to her bones – a sensation she was all to accustomed to. As she rolled over to sit up, she felt the pillow shift upwards with her face. It hung for a moment, before slowly peeling itself away from her cheek, flopping back down. She tried to open her other eye, but it seemed to be glued shut. The side of her face felt stiff and heavy.

'Confound it, not again,' she said, glancing down to see the pillow discoloured by a sizeable crimson stain.

The door swung open, and Tiger-Lilly came in, a pile of folded blankets stacked in her arms. She saw Cassandra and let out a startled exclamation, dropping the blankets.

'Is it bad?' Cassandra said, holding out little hope that it was not in fact so.

'You look like someone took a knife to you,' Tiger-Lilly said bluntly, 'your eye is all stuck shut and it's in your hair.'

Cassandra gingerly felt along her cheek, probing at the skin. There were no obvious cuts or abrasions. Her eyes felt a little strange, but aside from that, she felt no extraordinary pain in the area.

Tiger-Lilly crinkled up her nose thoughtfully, 'Well, Granny said to bring you back if something strange started happening. And if bleeding out of your eyes doesn't count, I don't know what does.'

Granny examined Cassandra's face. Peering down at the stiffening red marks blotched across it. 'Hmmph,' she grunted, tilting Cassandra's head from side to side, taking care to avoid the blood, as she squinted at her eyes.

She released Cassandra's chin and fetched a cloth and a wooden bowl of water. 'Clean your face,' she said, handing them to Cassandra.

As Cassandra did as she was bid, Granny continued, 'the discharge from the eyes is, as far as I can tell, a lingering side-effect. I have come across the like before, but it is not present in all cases. The sufferer seems to bear few ill effects, but in others who come in contact expulsion, it has been known to cause skin irritations and in one particularly extreme case, death. The blood tears are an early sign, and often disappear along with the rest of the symptoms. However, on occasion, it seems as though part of the poison itself lives on inside the host – the darker the heart, the more potent the tears.'

'Why didn't you tell me any of this,' Cassandra said, 'I could have injured someone!'

Granny shrugged, 'I was a mite busy trying to save your life young lady, and afterwards I didn't see the use of worrying you with mights and might nots. I warned Tiger-Lilly to keep an eye on you, and I see she had the sense to bring you back.' She sniffed, 'not as though I expected as much, young people are singularly unobservant, the lot of you. Wouldn't surprise me if some of you'd lose your own heads if they weren't so firmly attached.'

She shooed them out, with a caution to 'not to do anything stupid,' before Cassandra could get a word in edgewise.

'Well then,' Cassandra said, 'is she always like this.'

Tiger-Lilly nodded her head, 'she keeps us patched up alright, but she's a crotchety old bird and no mistake, especially when she gets in one of her moods. They say she has a heart in there somewhere, but in my opinion she's done an awfully good job of hiding it. She's been here longer than almost anyone else, and no-one knows where she came from or how she got here. I think,' she said conspiratorially, 'she's hiding some kind of awful secret. Or,' she shrugged, 'maybe she's just mean, who knows.'

When they finally returned to the king's house, Tiger-Lilly fetched a thick cloth bag, and with almost comical caution, gingerly deposited the pillowcase into it. She whisked it away, presumably to be tossed into the nearest furnace.

Cassandra supposed she could add 'walking, talking bio-hazard to her list of skills now. She wondered exactly how poisonous her tears were. The blacker the heart, the more dangerous the tears hardly seemed like a reliable form of measurement. Maybe, she could just find Pan and cry on him until he died. All she needed was a raw onion, and she could kick off a new career as the world's lamest assassin.

After lunch, having nothing better to do, she decided to take a nap. Her reserves had been more than depleted as her body had fought to ward of the infection. Besides, the bed was awfully comfortable compared to what she had previously been sleeping in, and the way she saw it, getting all the sleep she could seemed like an extremely sensible plan. As she drifted off to sleep, she had a nagging feeling that something was coming, but she shook it off as slumber enfolded her in its soft embrace.

Tiger-Lilly peeked in to see Cassandra fast asleep, cocooned up to her chin in blankets. She was glad, the other girl seemed to have more than a small stubborn streak, and it seemed likely she would run herself into the ground if she put half a mind to it. She shut the door softly and returned to the daily tasks she had been performing with little relish for the better part of two hundred years.

It was amusing really, she often found herself thinking, that kings and scholars spent their whole lives searching for immortality, little knowing that it mostly involved doing the same boring things over and over without the merciful release of death to free you from the monotony at some point in the future. The reality was not quite all it was held up to be, but she supposed it did have its own share of benefits. But, then again, it was all very well for her, being eternally twenty-two, but imagine being eighty forever, with all the corresponding aches and pains. Or, what about having a mind three hundred years old, trapped in the body of a ten year old child. And, this particular brand of immortality was especially tiresome. They were trapped here after all. It would be different if she could actually see something of the world. Before they had embarked on that ill-fated voyage, she had only tasted a tantalising sliver of what wonders existed out there. And now, she would never see any of it, She would continue living this way for ever and ever and ever, unless something managed to right the normal order of the world, and kill her in the meantime.

She morosely tipped the contaminated pillow-case into a bucket of hot water, and poured a substantial amount of lye on top. She had thought about destroying it, but then guess who would have to make a replacement. In a way, Cassandra had ruined more than the pillowcase. She had been more or less resigned to the way her life was before Cassandra had turned up. But, the things she had seen, the places out there…and, at least she had hope. She might spend the rest of eternity trying to escape, but at least she had that possibility. Tiger-Lilly only had the here and now.

She shook off the cloud of discontent which had settled itself around her shoulders, and turned herself to the mending. Despite being the king's daughter, he had ensured that Tiger-Lilly had just as many responsibilities as any other person in the village. Sewing it seems, was inescapable, even for a princess. She supposed she should be better at it after all this time, but somehow, her skills remained passable at best.

The point of the needle stabbed into the pad of her finger for the third time in as many minutes. A dark bead of blood welled up on her finger. She threw down the shirt she had been mending in disgust.

'Would you allow me,' a voice from behind her asked softly, 'to be of some assistance?'

Tiger-Lilly jumped, startled, she almost tipped out of her seat.

She rounded on Starkey, glaring, 'how dare you sneak up on me,' she said angrily, 'I could have stabbed you, you stupid man. I have a knife!'

He took a step back, 'please, accept my apologies,' he said, raising his hands placatingly, 'it was never my intention to cause you any alarm.'

'What do you want?' she said irritably, 'you should not be here.'

'If you would permit me to examine that,' he said patiently, gesturing down at the discarded needle-work, 'I might be able to assist you in putting that to rights.'

'What,' Tiger-Lilly said incredulously, 'you want to look at my _sewing_. What does a pirate know of such things?'

'The amount of sewing called for aboard ship would surprise you,' he said, 'there is often need to stich up anything from a piece of sail-cloth to a man's leg. Besides, my father was a tailor by profession, and he taught me his trade.'

Tiger-Lilly stared at him so strangely, that he began to wonder if perhaps he had sprouted a second head. Finally, she scooped up the piece of cloth, 'I know how to sew,' she grumbled, thrusting it at him brusquely.

He took it, turning it over in his hands.

'Your stitches, here and here,' he said, pointing, 'are uneven, and you have twisted the fabric by pulling to tightly on the thread. You need to make smaller, more even stitches, and use less force. Forgive the impertinence, but it is the sign of an inpatient hand.'

'I despise sewing,' she mumbled, 'I would rather cook or even tend the fields.'

'Would you like me to fix this for you?' Starkey asked, 'I am sure you could do it very well on your own, but it would be my pleasure to assist you, if I may.'

Tiger-Lilly considered this for a moment, clearly weighing up whether she felt the presence of a pirate, or actually having to do the work herself more repugnant. Finally, she nodded her head.

'Do you have a knife, or a pair of scissors?' Starkey asked.

Tiger-Lilly glared at him, 'Ha! I know of your treachery, pirate!' she exclaimed, 'you want me to give you a weapon so that you can…'

'Have it as you will,' Starkey said, holding out the unfinished garment, 'you will have to unpick the threads yourself.' Tiger-Lilly looked askance at the fabric, before slowly rummaging through her sewing box, to produce a pair of extremely small sewing scissors.

Starkey took them, and sat down on the other end of the bench. Within a matter of minutes, he had reduced the bumpy stitches to naught, and placed a row of even, neat ones in their place.

Tiger-Lilly watched at first with mistrust, and then with interest, inching closer, as she leaned over to observe more closely.

He worked in silence, with quiet efficiency, only looking up when he had finished the entire garment. 'Is there anything else with which I could assist you?' he asked. Tiger-Lilly did not precisely like the pirate, but judging from the eagerness by which she handed over the mending pile, she was certainly beginning to warm to him.

Many hours later, Cassandra awoke in the kind of cold sweat you get when you realise you cannot remember the last time you saw your car keys. 'Crap,' she announced to the air, 'I'm screwed.'

Granny was woken by a by a vigorous pounding on her front door. She shuffled, bleary-eyed and irritable to the door. It swung open to reveal a girl with dishevelled red hair, bent over the door frame, wheezing.

'What do you think you're about!' Granny snapped, 'waking up an old woman from the few hours of sleep she can cling onto.'

'My clothes,' Cassandra puffed, 'what did you do with them?'

'I told you, I burnt them. Rags not fit for cleaning, they were.'

'Did you check the pockets?' Cassandra asked, a note of grim despair entering her voice.

'Of course I did, do you think I'm the kind of person to go around throwing things into the fire willy-nilly. There was nothing in your pockets. Little surprise there, with the state they were in.'

Cassandra seemed to grow even paler in that moment. She leaned her forehead against the doorframe and groaned.

'What has gotten into you child?' Granny asked.

Cassandra raised her head, her expression bleak, 'I've gone and lost it, haven't I.'

'Lost what, gracious girl, I'm not a mind-reader.'

'The transporter cuff,' she said, 'I still have the vortex-manipulator,' she waved her wrist at Granny, 'but the transporter cuff was in my pocket, or my satchel, or something, and now it's gone. Even if I could somehow trap Peter Pan, I have no way of getting home again. I'm actually trapped here.' She smacked her hand hard against the wood.

'Come inside,' Granny said a hint of kindness worming its way through her otherwise brusque manner.

She pushed Cassandra into a chair, clattered around the kitchen, lighting the fire.

'Drink this,' she said, pushing a steaming cup into Cassandra's limp hands, 'and don't spill it.'

'I thought I might die,' Cassandra said, 'trying to escape. But I never thought I would end up, just stuck here. With no possibility of escape, no hope at all.'

'Well then,' Granny said, sipping at her own tea, 'you can either sit around and mope, or you can make the best of it. You're in the same boat as all of us now, lass. There's worse places you could be. If you pull your weight and keep yourself civil, you'll fit in fine.'

Cassandra shifted the cup from hand to hand, watching as the surface was upset by tiny waves. She tried to remember the last time she had felt that subtle weight in her pocket? Was it lost to the sea, drifting down below those pounding waves, to lie useless on the ocean-floor? Or had it been taken from her before the shipwreck. She though she remembered someone going through her pockets…taking her satchel… had she slipped it in there herself… whatever the case, she supposed it hardly made any difference now, lost was lost.

As she limped slowly back to the king's house, with Granny's words still ringing in her ears, she focused on the ground. It was muddy in places. If it had rained during the night, Cassandra had not heard it, but then, she doubted whether she would have heard an air-raid siren. She was focused on plotting out the footing ahead, when she collided with something solid. She lost her balance and toppled over. She felt a hand reach out to grab her forearm, but it was too late, and they both went down in a tangle of arms and legs. The other person landed first, cushioning the impact of her fall. They let out a huff of air, as her elbow dug into their stomach.

'Ugghfff,' Cassandra grunted, levering herself up on one elbow. She looked down, and let out a grunt of disgust. In one unfairly fluid motion, Hook was back on his feet. He looked at her, sitting in the mud, with a hint of amusement on his face. With loathsome courtesy he extended his good hand, a knowing smile spilling over the corners of his mouth. She started at it with revulsion, as if he had just tried to hand her a snake.

He shook the hand at her, 'do you really intend to sit there in the mud, just so you might have the small satisfaction of refusing my help?'

Cassandra ignored him, and leaned over to grab her fallen crutches. She scrabbled a little, planting her knee firmly on the ground as she pushed upwards, holding onto the crutch, and levering herself up onto her injured leg. With one final grunt, she stood tall.

'Like, I'm ever going to trust you again. I don't want or need your help. And to be perfectly honest, you would be smart to stay away from me, because hurting you is starting to seem like a super fun idea right about now.'

Hook stared down at her. Pale-faced and gaunt, but with something dangerous burning inside her. Out of the corner of her left eye, a single red droplet beaded. It pooled there, before sliding down her cheek in a narrow crimson river.

'We are not so different, you and I,' he said, 'I could help you.'

'I don't need your help,' she said coldly, 'you're nothing but a sad relic. If you died today no one would even miss you,' she smiled cruelly, 'how did the children put it – you are old, alone and done for. You are a captain with no ship and no crew. You are worse than obsolete, so what could you possibly do for me.'

She turned her back on him and walked away, slowly, but with absolute finality. He watched her go, his eyes dark and hooded, the fingers of his one remaining hand gripped together like a vice.

 _ **A/N:**_ _So I'm back. I didn't die, although law school has been trying its best in that regard._

 _As always, I would be extremely grateful if you would consider taking a minute to leave a review._


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